Candy From Strangers
by LumiOlivier
Summary: Amelia's boyfriend is a jerk. No matter how anyone looks at it, he's a straight up jerk. One night, things got a bit out of hand and...Well...He's her ex-boyfriend now. A broken plate to the cheek does that. But a kind hearted stranger in the park was more than ok with fixing up more than the deep cut on her cheek. With 2p!Characters. **Updates Every Friday**
1. Sweet Tooth

**A/N: Hi there! It's a pleasure to meet you. In case we haven't met before, my name is Lumi. I've written one story for Hetalia in the past called Draw a Circle and it's a delight, if you ask me. Although, I've also recently finished a different Hetalia story that's a crossover with Fruits Basket that follows the boys of the BTT getting mixed up with the Sohma family and shenanigans ensue. Some moments are cute. Some are kind of hot. Some get very sad and angsty. It's a healthy mixture of a lot of different things. It's like trail mix. But I've never played around with the 2p! characters before. This is going to be a first for me. I'm pretty excited. Now, I'm currently working on a NaNoWriMo project, so I'm going to be away until December, but that doesn't mean I won't be with you in spirit for the next few weeks. So, enjoy the fruits of my labor and I'll hopefully see you back here in December. I'm going to get back to work now. Enjoy!**

**Oh, but before I go, this does kind of have a little bit of mentions of blood and the aftermath of a bad fight, but everything's going to be ok, so…Just be forewarned. **

I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle it anymore. The plates shattered in what used to be our kitchen, the picture frames that held once precious memories in pieces in what used to be our living room. The fake smiles that we used to call love…I couldn't fake them anymore. And I couldn't stand to be in that house we used to call home. Apparently, after one whiskey sour too many, he figures that's a good time to start hashing shit out. I needed to get out of there before things got any worse.

It's not like I could go back to my parents' house. They warned me about Reid when we started dating. He's an asshole, Amy. He's just going to break your heart. Guys like him are only after one thing. I guess I was stupid in thinking we could prove them wrong. And I know damn well that if I were to go back home with a broken heart, they wouldn't hesitate to throw this in my face. I didn't have the energy to deal with that. Not after everything that's happened.

What am I going to do? I could only sit in the park for so long. Yeah. It's nice for the time being, but at some point, I'll have to go back there. I'm sure Reid's going to change the locks on me, so sleeping in my own bed tonight is probably unheard of. I needed to do something, but I just can't think of what. Am I really that screwed?

I suppose a good first move would be to clean up my cheek. The stinging sensation still lingered after the ceramic plate shattered on me. My reflexes were usually pretty quick, but when I had four plates coming at me, I can't block them all. There are probably shards of ceramic in my open wound. I was lucky I had my phone and my wallet on me, let alone a pair of tweezers. Maybe I should let it get infected. That would teach me for falling in love with an idiot.

"Pardon me," a voice chimed in the dark, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I put my hand up to my face, hoping this guy didn't see the carnage, "I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm lovely," he giggled to himself, reaching for my hand, "But you're not fooling anyone, darling. I'm sorry, but do you mind if I take a look at that?"

"At what?" Denial is my friend. Right now, I might hate the guy, but dealing with Reid when the wound is still fresh (quite literally, in this case) wasn't something I had in me.

"Your face," he lowered my hand with the most delicate touch, "Oh, goodness…That doesn't look very nice, does it?"

"I'd suppose not."

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked, taking the empty spot next to me.

"About ten minutes ago," I figured, my head a bit fuzzy, "Are you some kind of wealth of medical knowledge or something?"

"Just a man who has taken a couple of first aid classes," he pulled his pocket square out and put it under my fingertips, "Here. I want you to hold this for a moment. Could you tell me your name?"

"Amy," I could do that much, "Amy Williams."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he smiled sweetly, "My name is Oliver. It's unfortunate we had to meet under these circumstances, but we don't have much control over that. No matter, I do wish I could clean that up for you a tad better. Do you live around here?"

"I did," I grumbled, "I lived with my boyfriend, but then…"

Oliver let out a little gasp. I knew pity would've happened eventually, "Did he do this to you?"

Again, I didn't feel like filing an assault case tonight, "Are you a cop?"

"Not at all," he promised, "I'm not even involved in social work. Forgive me if I asked too much."

"Don't worry about it," I brushed him off, "I'll be fine."

"We really should clean that properly," Oliver got up and offered me his hand, "If it's alright with you, my house is just 'round the corner. I have a small pharmacy in my medicine cabinet."

"Ok," I took his hand.

"Slowly, love," he insisted, "We wouldn't want you getting dizzy and getting hurt somewhere else. Let's keep it down to one injury tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah," I followed his instructions and eased off the bench, "Oliver, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Amy," Oliver allowed, "What is it?"

"This isn't the part where you take me to your place," I wondered, using him as a crutch, "And I end up being chopped up in your basement, is it?"

"Heavens, no!" he laughed, "Your overactive imagination betrays you, Amy. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Good," I relaxed, "I had to ask."

"I understand," Oliver let it go, "You can't be too careful. But I promise I'm no serial killer."

"Ok." He had something in his eyes. Something kind and trustable. Maybe because I still had Reid on the brain, I'm a little mistrusting. But that's my problem, not his. By the looks of it, this guy just wanted to help me.

Oliver and I walked down the street and turned the corner where a beautiful Victorian stood. I wish I could see more. Going by what I could tell from Oliver, I could almost guarantee he had a pretty yard. Nevertheless, we were here on a mission. Oliver helped me up the stairs and brought me into his house. My god…This place is huge. Everything seemed meticulously cleaned and organized. Oliver brought me into the living room and sat me down on his couch.

"If you could," Oliver asked, "Wait here. And please try not to bleed on my sofa. White antique furniture is hard to come by and restoring it is even worse."

"I'll do my best," I promised.

"Make yourself at home," he scurried off to God knows where. Probably his bathroom. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about this man. Although, it would be rude to go through his stuff. Instead, I merely looked around the room. The whole hose looked like it could be my grandma's. His doilies had doilies. The plants seemed to be well loved. I had to ask…

"Hey, Oliver," I wondered, "Is it just you who lives here?"

"Just me," Olivier confirmed, walking back in with a bottle of peroxide in one hand and a handful of cotton balls in the other, "I used to have someone else here, but they left. Now, it's just me. Could you take my pocket square off your face please?"

"Sure," I pulled his pocket square off, the dry blood sticking like glue, "Owie, owie, owie, owie…"

"I know, poppet, I know," he helped me, "I wish it didn't hurt for you, but it'll be over soon. I'm sorry. I should've brought a warm washcloth, too."

"I'll be fine," I winced, getting the rest of it off, "Just hurt for a sec."

"There," Oliver took his pocket square from me and tossed it aside, "All better. For now."

"Sorry about the blood," I bit my lip.

"No, no," he hushed me, "No need for that. Nothing a little lemon and some club soda won't fix. That also doesn't mean to actively try bleeding on my sofa. Even though it's a simple process, it's extensive and tedious."

"I'm trying to keep the mess to a minimum," I promised.

"I know, love," Oliver poured some peroxide on his washcloth, "This may sting a little."

"I can handle it," I braced myself, knowing this was going to hurt like a bitch.

"I'll be gentle," he winced, catching phantom pain, "I promise. Are you ready?"

"Ready," I let out slow, even breaths. To no surprise, the peroxide burned like a lighter under my skin.

"It's alright," Oliver spoke softly, finishing quickly, "Shh…It's ok. I'm all done, Amy."

"Thank God," I sighed out, "That sucked."

"Can I ask you something?" he reached behind him for antibiotic cream and a bandage.

"Go ahead."

"Is your name really Amy?" Oliver asked, patching up my face, "Or is it short for something?"

"It's short for Amelia," I told him, "I was named after my great-grandma."

"It's a beautiful name," Oliver smiled, "Why wouldn't you go by that?"

"Because…" I thought it over, "I don't know. Just don't."

"Could I call you Amelia?" he requested.

"You can call me whatever you want," I allowed, "It's not often anyone calls me Amelia, though."

"I've always loved the name Amelia for a little girl," Oliver melted, rubbing the bandage on, giving it a little kiss, "There. All better."

"Really?" I giggled, the kiss catching me off guard.

"I'm sorry," he cleaned up the mess, "It's a habit. But a kiss makes everything better, don't you think?"

"I guess," I held back a smile, "Thank you, Oliver. I appreciate it."

"You're very welcome," Oliver got up and threw the wrappers away, "Amelia, do you need somewhere to stay tonight? Surely after all of this, you're not going back to that. God only knows how much worse it could get."

"No," I shook my head, "Thank you, but I couldn't."

"It's no trouble," he assured, "If you need somewhere to stay, you're more than welcome."

"No," I turned him down, "I think I'm just going to swallow my pride and go to my parents' house. I'll be alright."

"Alright," Oliver seemed so sad to see me go. He grabbed my phone off the table and tapped away on the screen, "If you need anything, darling, don't hesitate to call me. Ok?"

"Ok." I think I like this guy. He's alright.

"Before you go," he walked into the kitchen and came right back out. In his hand, Oliver had a few brightly pastel colored squares, "Would you care of a sweet? I made them myself just this morning."

These were almost too pretty to eat, but the light pink one called my name. It'd be rude of me to turn him down twice, "Sure. Thank you, Oliver. For everything you've done for me. Most people would've left me on that bench."

"I'm not most people," Oliver and I walked out onto his wraparound porch, "Hopefully, this won't be the last we see of each other."

"Probably not," I waved behind me and started my short, yet eternal walk to my parents' house. This is going to suck. At least my dad's awake. The TV's still on. I knocked a couple times on the front door.

"Hi, Amy," Dad answered, "A little late for you to be here, don't you think?"

"I had a bad night," I kept my head down, making sure the bandage on my cheek was well hidden, "Do you think I could stay here tonight?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "What happened?"

"I'm really tired." And I didn't want to talk about it anyway, "Could I just go to bed? It's been a long night."

"Alright," Dad allowed, "But you do know your mother's going to be asking you questions in the morning, right?"

"Yeah," I sighed out. That's for future Amy to worry about. Because current Amy didn't want to deal with shit right now.

"Go on," he sent me off, "Get to bed."

"Ok," I rubbed my eyes, not needing to be told twice, "Night, Dad."

"Night, Amy."

I made the treacherous walk up the narrow staircase and into my old bedroom. It hadn't changed much from when I moved out. Honestly, I don't even know what they were using it for. Probably a guest room, but here nor there. Right now, I had one thing on my mind. My big, comfortable bed that knew how to hold me just right. God bless. Then, I remembered the candy in my pocket from Oliver. No time like the present.

When I popped it into my mouth, my world became a better place. The sweet strawberry flavor filled my mouth and my body slumped down into my bed. My god, Oliver, you know what you're doing, don't you? Now, I have more than one reason why I was thankful to meet you today. At least my day didn't end like shit.


	2. Guilt Trip

If it weren't for the bandage on my face, I wouldn't think last night even happened. Oliver seemed too good to be true. Or maybe my cynicism has gotten the better of me. One thing was certain. I had a bitch of a headache. After the fight Reid and I had last night, I'm not surprised. There's no way I'd be able to walk away from that totally unscathed. Clearly. My cheek was gushing blood last night. Damn, my head hurts. A couple of aspirin and an energy drink and I'll be right as rain.

When I walked downstairs, all I could smell was cinnamon. Mom made breakfast. Hell yeah! Mom made breakfast! Wait…Mom hardly ever cooked, even when I still lived here. This wasn't breakfast. This was bribery. No…Amy…No. Don't be cynical. Maybe this isn't bribery, but a comfort. Dad must have said something to Mom and Mom felt bad, so she made me breakfast. And maybe monkeys would fly out of my ass. Tread lightly, young Amelia. You know this game. The knot in my stomach only got tighter with every step.

"Good morning, Amy," Mom stood at the stove, finishing off the last of the batter, "Did you sleep ok?"

"Yeah," my skepticism only grew. Definitely a bribery breakfast. I'm about to get grilled like a T-bone.

"That's good," she put a plate in front of me. Damn…This looked downright delightful. It's a shame I couldn't get it without ulterior motives. At least Dad left for work already, so it won't be bloody, "So, about last night…"

Here we go, "What about last night?"

"When your dad came to bed," Mom began, "He told me you were staying here and you'd explain in the morning."

"I did," I confirmed, sinking my teeth into the best case of type two diabetes.

"Here it is," she sat across from me, "It's morning. Why'd you stay here last night?"

"I couldn't stay at my house," I kept shoveling food into my mouth.

"And why's that?"

I should've known, "Reid came home drunk last night. When he gets drunk, he starts to run his mouth. Some unpleasant things were said. We fought. Then, I left. Took a walk around town. Came here."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she put her hand on mine. Huh…Maybe this was out of sympathy. Food can always heal a broken heart.

"Thanks, Mom."

"What did I tell you?" Mom got up from the table. There it is. The monkeys have flown out, "That boy would be nothing but trouble! I knew it the second I laid eyes on him. Honestly, I thought you were going through a rebellious phase. I'm shocked it lasted this long. I knew his mother a long time ago and that apple does not fall far from the tree. She was a lush, too. You know…"

I tuned out my mother's lecture and looked down at my phone. Twelve missed calls from Reid. Why am I not surprised? His voicemails were the same thing as Mom's breakfast. A mere empty gesture. The means to an end. I didn't even bother listening to them. What was the point? I finished what was left of my breakfast and took my plate to the sink. When I looked at the clock, my stomach dropped.

"I have to go," I slipped my shoes on, "I'm going to be late for work as it is. Fingers crossed the boss lets me slide."

"Hurry up, so you don't have to find out."

Work would be so much better than more I told you so from my mother. I don't know how much more of that I could've taken. It was just one night. Reid had to have pulled his head out of his ass by now, right? At least long enough for me to get my stuff after work. Hopefully, he'll realize I'm done this time. No more second chances. I'm through bending over backwards for someone who wouldn't do the same for me.

Once I got to work, the world started to look a little less bleak. The Daylight Café was a regular spot for a lot of locals. From eight to ten o'clock every morning, it'd be wall to wall old people. From ten o'clock to eleven, things would be pretty quiet, but once it hit eleven o'clock, it'd be full of high school kids and people on their lunch break. Only for things to settle down by one. Then, they'd pick up around three. I liked my job at the café. I could mix a mean coffee drink and everyone knew it. I've heard people ask my boss for my schedule for that very reason. Although, once it rolled around four, I'd be gone. An eight-hour shift was plenty for me. Then, the high school kid that worked here would take over for me. She tried her damnedest, but she wasn't me.

"Morning, boss," I slipped in just before we opened.

"Good morning, Amy." My boss Helen was so sweet. She's sixty-five years old and still running this café. I love her and she's just wonderful. We always got along famously, "Care to tell me why you're ten minutes late?"

"It's been a hectic morning," I explained, "Some personal things came up."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart," Helen empathized, "It's just ten minutes. Nothing I couldn't do on my own. Just straightening the pastry case."

"And it's beautiful today," I applauded.

"I don't know," she looked it over, "It doesn't have the same sparkle as when you do it."

"I'm really sorry, Helen," I groveled, "Is there anything I can do to make up for it?"

"You could get in the kitchen," Helen ordered, "We're low on pastry glaze and I know you know how to make some of that."

"Yes, ma'am!" Anything I could do to redeem myself. I didn't like being on Helen's shit list. That was not a place anyone wanted to be. She may be sweet as pie, but she ruled with an iron fist. Before we could flip the open sign (and some of the more eager old people waited outside the door), I whisked some powdered sugar in with some melted butter, milk, and vanilla and waited for it to come together. I probably should've asked her if she wanted a flavored glaze. Oh, well. I made enough of it for when the usual baker comes in. He can adjust it however he sees fit

And so, the morning rush began. I had put some nice, mellow jazz on. Just enough to set an atmosphere and enough to keep me motivated. The café had come to life in front of my eyes as I made macchiato after macchiato, latte after latte. Depending on who came in, I'd make some dandy latte art. A lot of customers loved to watch me work when I did that. I made some nice designs when I wanted to. This was exactly what I needed today. Some mind-numbing repetition and a low droning of mixed chatter could always set my mind at ease. Just as the rush started to die down, the front bell chimed so sweetly as it usually did. I was finishing up the slight mess on the espresso machine. It's not often it gets away from me.

"Sorry," I apologized preemptively, tossing my rag into the hamper under the counter. But then, I caught sight of who had walked in. Instinctively, my stomach turned and a phantom pain throbbed in my cheek, "What do you want, Reid? I'm working."

"Wow," Reid scoffed, "Weren't you ever taught to greet a customer?"

"I know better," I rolled my eyes, "What are you doing here?"

"Actually," his eyes softened, "I wanted to apologize for last night."

"Fine," I went back to cleaning the espresso machine, "You've apologized. Now, leave."

"So…" Reid stuck around, "How's your face?"

"I'm busy, Reid," I groaned, "If you're not going to order anything, get out."

"I'm trying to pour my heart out here, Amy," he whined, leaning over the counter. Somewhere I know damn well he's not supposed to be, "The least you could do is listen to me."

"Can we not do this here?" I begged, hearing the bell again, "Please?"

"Hello, Amelia," a gentle English accent filled my ear. Thank God. Some sanity.

"Hi, Oliver," I smiled, wiping my hands off.

"Is everything alright?" he worried, looking me over.

"Yeah," I shook Reid off, completely ignoring him, "Can I get you something?"

"Excuse me," Reid stuck his nose into things, "I was first."

"Fine," I sucked it up, biting the inside of my cheek, "How may I help you, sir?"

"That's more like it." My skin crawled, "I would like a black coffee with exactly eight grams of Splenda, not stevia, three and a quarter teaspoons of agave nectar, two and a half pumps of mocha creamer, a half pump of hazelnut, and extra whipped cream. All served with one bite of a bagel made exactly thirty-three minutes ago."

"No, you don't," I did all I could to keep myself from rolling my eyes, "Do you want a serious order or not?"

"That is my order," Reid assured, "Would you like me to repeat it slower, so it registers?"

"Either give me a serious order or leave," I demanded, in no mood to deal with his bullshit.

"Come on, Amy," he awed, "Don't be like that."

"Oliver," I blew him off, "Didn't you say you wanted something?"

"Just earl grey tea for me," Oliver ordered, shooting side glances at Reid, "Thank you. Are you going to be alright, Amelia?"

"Hey," Reid gave him a nudge aside, "I'm trying to talk to my girlfriend here."

"And she's trying to maintain her professionalism," Oliver stepped up for me. Because I knew Reid's order wasn't serious, I immediately got Oliver his tea.

"She's doing just fine without you."

"She looks like she'd be doing even better without you," Oliver argued.

"Who is this guy, Amy?" Reid got defensive. And pissed.

"It'd be much better if you just asked me directly," Oliver kept his head about him. It's almost scary…

"Guys…" I tried to break it up before it could amount to anything. I know Reid won't hesitate to throw hands.

"But Amelia," Oliver worried, "He's…"

"He calls you Amelia?" Reid scoffed in disgust, "Seriously, Amy, who is this guy?"

"Here," I snapped, shoving both their orders at them. I knew Reid's normal order and hoped that would be enough to pacify him. Anything to get him to go away at this point, "Now, if you don't mind, could I work in peace please? Before I get fired? I'm already on thin ice as it is."

"I suppose so," Oliver bowed out, "Thank you, poppet."

"You're welcome," I smiled a bit.

Reid shot a side eye at Oliver, "I want you home after work, Amy."

"I will be." Long enough to get my stuff and leave. Maybe.

Oliver and Reid left the café and I leaned over on the counter. That took more out of me than I wanted it to. It would've been nice if they could've gotten along, but Reid's too much of an asshole when it comes to me. Especially when it comes to me. Even though he's the one that made me need Oliver's help in the first place.

"Amy…" Helen came out of her office. Oh, shit. How much of that did she see?

"Yeah?" I hid any signs of a potential breakdown. And those were bubbling up like Mentos in Diet Coke

"Are you alright, honey?" she looked me over, "I heard Reid out here and I figured it couldn't have been pretty."

"I took care of it," I assured, "No collateral damage."

"Alright," Helen let it go, "Why don't you go take a ten-minute break? You've earned it."

"Thank you," I dropped my apron behind the counter under the register and stepped outside. I didn't have much time, so the alley would be my place of solitude. Maybe this could be Reid's wakeup call. I didn't come home last night. Chances are, I'll only be home for twenty minutes while I pack everything up. Maybe this will be the thing that clicks in his head that makes him think otherwise. Again. Monkeys. Flying. Probably not.

"Amelia?" Oliver stood at the opening of the alleyway, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I shook it off, "I'm fine. Sorry about that. You didn't deserve Reid being like that. Chances are, he's just mad at me and mad at himself and he needed to take it out somewhere."

"You know," he reminded me, "If you need somewhere to stay tonight…My offer still stands."

"Thank you, Oliver," I started to feel a lightness in my chest again, "But right now, I could really do with a hug."

"My pleasure," Oliver wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, "You deserve so much better than that, Amelia. Don't you ever forget it."


	3. Broken Promises

After work, I dreaded the thought of going home. Dare I? I mean, I did have a few things I'd like to grab for sentimentality reasons. A necklace my grandma gave me when I was twelve. The shot glasses I got on my twenty-first birthday. The friendly reminder that whiskey and I don't get along very well (If only Reid had fallen into that same path…). A big ass quilt I've had since I was a baby. I guess I could go home. For however long it's still home to me. We've both had a chance to cool off since last night. Although, if the incident this morning was any indication, it looks like someone missed that chance.

"See you tomorrow, Helen!" I called behind me.

"Sure will, sweetheart!" Helen yelled back, "Good work today!"

"Thanks, boss!" And just like that, I headed home. The walk would do me good. The fresh air would go up to my head and clear things out. I could do this. I had no choice.

I got a couple blocks away from the house and finally got a good look at that Victorian I ended up in last night. To no surprise, Oliver's house looked like something off a postcard. The gardens were lush and green with a few splashes of color here and there. His roses…My god, his roses were beautiful. Red ones, pink ones, white ones. They were so big and beautiful. And the bright pink bleeding hearts and the full and immaculate hibiscus…Damn, Oliver…You know what you're doing, don't you?

I kept on walking a few streets down and made it home just before the rain started again. What used to be home anyway. It was nowhere near as nice as Oliver's. Reid and I had a small house. One bedroom, one bathroom. We didn't need much more than that. The living room, the dining room, and the kitchen. That was it. I wanted to get something a little bigger, but Reid said we wouldn't need it and it'd just be a higher rent. Oh, well. It's not like I'm going to be here much longer. Just enough to get my stuff and get the hell out of here.

When I walked in, something didn't feel right. The house was spotless. That rarely happened. It was like I had my day off and decided to clean the house. It's the only time it's ever this clean. Hell, it wasn't even like this when I'd have family come over. And the smell…The smell was…Kind of good. I'm confused. I'm hot and sweaty from work and all I really wanted was a shower. Maybe I should've stayed outside for a little while longer. But this didn't happen either. It smelled like good cooking. And if I remember correctly, Reid couldn't cook worth a shit. If that's the case, then why did this smell so good?

"Reid?" I walked cautiously inside the house, "Reid, are you home?"

The car was in the driveway. He had to be home. Sure enough, he came out from around the corner, a half dozen of red roses in his hand, "Hi, honey…"

"Uh…" I wasn't sure what to think. He sure as hell wasn't getting any tonight like he probably thought he would. I wasn't going to stay long, "What the hell…?"

"This is why I wanted you to come home tonight," Reid led me into our dining room where more food was laid out on our table than two people could possibly eat. And everything looked like it was made from scratch, "I thought we could have a nice dinner together. It's been so long since we've done this."

"Ok…?" my skepticism only grew, "For what reason…?"

"Because," he tried to put his arms around me, "I love you, Amy."

"You didn't last night," I slipped out from his embrace, "There's something to be said when a man calls the woman he allegedly loves a whore and a cunt in the middle of a fight."

"About that," Reid took my hands, his eyes twinkling and my stomach churning, "I'm sorry, Amy. Really and truly, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. Please. Sit with me. I just want us to talk. And I'm sure you haven't eaten since noon. You're probably hungry."

I hated that he was right. I was starving. Because of this asshole, I had hardly any appetite while I had lunch, so eating wasn't really happening. For the rest of the day, I had to suffer with a smile. What the hell? I'll take the bait. If anything, it's hot food in my stomach, "Alright, Reid."

"Thank you," he smiled, sitting down across from me, "So, how was work?"

"Well," I started making my plate, piling on spoonful after spoonful of mashed potatoes, hoping the carbs would give me the hug I so desperately needed to get through this, "Things were pretty good. With the exception of some prick walking in, thinking I owed him the world and gave me a complicated order on purpose, so that was a treat."

"Yeah…" Reid stared down at his food, "Sorry about that…"

"What about you?" I needed to get the heat off me. As much as I wanted to scream at him, I didn't have that kind of energy. Not to mention, I wanted to eat some time today. And there was a glistening beef brisket in front of me, dripping in a mixture of sauces and its own juices. I couldn't turn that down.

"After I left the café," he began, "I went to the grocery store. I came back here and threw the brisket in the oven."

"Just to heat it back up?"

"No," Reid shook his head, "I did all of this myself. It's amazing what you can learn on the internet. Who knew we had seasonings in our cabinets?"

"I did," I rolled my eyes, "And I used them. Liberally."

"What do you think of it?" he wondered, staring me down, "Pretty good, yeah?"

"It's not bad." It's fucking amazing, but I didn't want to give him that satisfaction. He didn't deserve it. I get that he's trying here, but fool me once…

"So," Reid went on, "I had some news I wanted to share with you."

"And what's that?" Oh, God, don't tell me I have to get tested for something. Because you sure as hell didn't catch anything from me.

"I thought I'd stop drinking…" he confessed, "You know…For good this time."

"That's a great first step, Reid," I applauded his efforts, "But we've been here before."

"I know," Reid nodded, "But I really do mean it this time."

"I don't want to be the downer here," I bit the inside of my cheek. You can do this, Amy. You had all that time on the walk here to figure out how you were going to do this. You had all of your downtime at work. You can do it. Stay strong, "But what happened last time we did this? The fact that there was a last time should say all that needs to be said."

"Just give me another chance, Amy," he begged, "I know if you stay, I'll be able to get through it. You're my biggest supporter."

"Reid…" I let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, running the last bit of gravy around my plate on my finger, "I know we're just going to end up right back here. And next time, it won't just be a cut on my cheek. What if it ends up with a broken bone or more than a few bruises? This has to stop. Something has to break this cycle. And I know damn well it's not going to be you."

"What are you saying?" I watched as Reid's heart shattered to pieces.

"If this is ever going to stick," I put my foot down, "I can't stay here anymore. Reid…We're done."

"What?" he gasped, "No. Amy…Why?"

"You know exactly why," I stood my ground, "If you can get your shit together and clean yourself up, then come find me. But for now, for my own safety and yours, I can't be here anymore."

"Amy…"

I got up from the table, "I'll be back for my stuff tomorrow morning."

"Amy, no…" Tears welled up in his eyes.

"If you'd rather me come while you're at work," I grabbed my bag, feeling an ache in my chest, "I can do that."

"I'd rather you didn't leave at all!" Reid wrapped his arms around my waist, "Please. Amy, don't leave me. I need you."

"You need to get yourself right first," I pried his fingers off me. Wait…What was that smell?

"It's him, isn't it?" he growled, "The little twink from the café. You're fucking cheating on me, aren't you, you little slut? So desperate she'll sleep with anything that moves…"

"Quitting, huh?" I knew better. I thought I smelled whiskey on him. The bottle sat on top of the fridge.

"Looks like we all have our secrets," Reid gave me a shove, "You've been screwing around on me with the guy from the café, haven't you, Amy? You're fucking cheating on me, you bitch!"

"No!" I screeched back at him, "See? This is what I'm talking about! You tell me you love me and that you need me, but here we are! Just like I said we'd be…To think, I gave it about a week in my head. I didn't think it'd be so soon. No more…"

"Fine!" he snarled, "Go back to your little sidepiece! I'm sure he'll be waiting for you with open arms and you with open legs!"

"Fuck you, Reid!" I grabbed a few things from the bedroom and left that asshole behind.

What do I do now? I'm in the same predicament as last night. At least this time, I came out unscathed. The only suck part now was that I'm stuck in the rain with nowhere to go. I'm not going back to my parents' house. I don't need yet another round of I told you so and my dad losing his shit over Reid being an asshole. Once was plenty…I should've said the same thing about Reid the first time this happened.

I could probably go to Helen's. She'd take me in. But that would mean putting my boss through that trouble. It'd only make things weird at work and I can't afford to lose this job. I need the money now more than ever. Chances are, I could get an apartment on the cheap somewhere, but I don't want to catch anything. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not nearly as big of a slut as Reid seemed to think I am. I've never had any kind of disease like that. I could get a hotel room, but I run that same risk. All of the nice hotels in town are too expensive and I have fifty dollars to get me through the week.

I couldn't do this anymore. I'm exhausted. After running on this wheel for so long, I don't know much else. I needed something. Anything. Stupid Amy. Stupid Amy leaping before she looked. And now, she stands out in the rain with nowhere to go with nothing but her razor-sharp wits and her mild good looks. I'm not hooking. That's not happening. Just because I have nothing to prove to Reid anymore doesn't mean I want to prove him right. There was one place I could go…And I know there wouldn't be a problem…But it's so late. What other options did I have? This one was the closest.

Knock, knock.

"Amelia…?" Oliver answered the door, "What are you doing here? It's ten o'clock…"

"I know," I winced, frozen to the bone and dripping wet on his front porch, "And I'm so sorry I'm here unannounced and so late, but I've had a long night."

"What's wrong, poppet?" he wiped my eyes, "What happened?"

"Like I said," my voice broke, "Long night. Do you think I could stay here tonight?"

"Of course," Oliver allowed, pulling me into his arms, "Please. Come in."


	4. Moral Support

"Why would I have expected anything different?" I sat on Oliver's couch, wrapped up in a blanket and warm pajamas (that he was so kind to lend me), fresh out of the shower. Oliver didn't want me catching a cold, so he was very adamant about that. Every muscle in my body hurt and I turned to jelly on impact, "I'm such an idiot…"

"No, you're not," Oliver came back into the living room with a serving tray holding a mint colored teapot and a matching pair of cups, "You were hopeful. And he took advantage of that."

"Like an idiot," I grumbled into the arm of the couch.

"Here," he handed me some tea, "It's chamomile and lavender. I hope that's alright. Do you take sugar or honey?"

"Honey," I requested, "If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all," Oliver brushed me off, taking a spoonful from the jar, "I did just scrape this from the hive not too long ago, too."

"You keep bees?" I wondered.

"Only a couple hives," he nodded, "Nothing too fancy. They're out back. I grew the chamomile and the lavender, too."

"Thank you, Oliver," I smiled, taking a long drink from the very hot cup. Like an idiot, "I'll be gone by tomorrow. I promise. I'm sorry I brought you into this."

"It's really not any trouble," Oliver assured, "You're not trouble to me, Amelia. It's alright. You were in a spot of bad luck and got out of it. If anything, I'm proud of you. He didn't hurt you again, did he?"

"Only emotionally this time," I promised, "No open wounds. The one on my face is still healing."

"I see that," he checked it over, "It's good that he didn't add to them, but the rest isn't exactly pleasant either. Not too worse for wear, though. You'll be alright. And you can stay here for as long as you'd like. Could I get you anything else?"

"No," I shook my head, "But thank you. Tea is plenty."

"No biscuits?" Oliver asked.

"I'm good," I giggled a bit, "Really. I'm ok. But thank you. So much. I promise I'll be as low maintenance as a houseplant. You won't even know I'm here."

"I already know you're here," he teased, "You're sitting in front of me, darling. You're not easy to ignore. Not that I would. But you're welcome. I told you anytime and I'm glad you listened to me."

"You don't judge," I pointed out, "You don't tell me you told me so."

"Who would do such a thing?" Oliver awed, "And when you're already in such a fragile state?"

"I wouldn't exactly say fragile," I shrugged, "I mean, I've dealt with it before. It's given me a thick skin. But I definitely wasn't in the best place to deal with it."

"Who was giving you that kind of condescension, Amelia?" he worried.

"Mostly my mother," I rolled my eyes, "My dad somewhat, too. If I didn't come home so tired last night, I'm sure he would've hounded me for information, too. I didn't want to deal with that twice."

"Such a shame," Oliver sighed out, "What kind of parent could do that to their child? Especially when they're like that. It breaks my heart."

"You should've been there for the lecture my mother gave me this morning," I took another drink of my tea. This really was delightful, "I tuned out most of it."

"Ordinarily," he admitted, "I would've called that rude, but given the circumstances, I could let that one go."

"It wasn't like I hadn't heard it before," I pulled the blanket over me a little tighter, "I just didn't need to hear it again. It almost made me late for work."

"How long have you worked at the café?"

"Probably three years," I thought, "I was a year or two out of high school when I started working there."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Yeah. It's an honest living."

"But," Oliver asked, "If you had the chance, would you do something else?"

"Of course," I scoffed, "But wouldn't that be everybody?"

"I'm sure you're right," he dropped it.

"Honestly," I threw my arm over the couch, "I wouldn't mind a break. Just for a week or two. I haven't been on a vacation in years. When Reid and I would go places, it'd end up with me having to hide the key to the mini bar or he'd be trashed in the first day. Then, he'd try to crawl in bed with me and attempt what he'd call sex only to pass out before anything started. And this is probably too much for me to be telling you."

"You need to vent," Oliver allowed, taking a seat next to me, "Go ahead."

"Thank you," I laid my head on his shoulder, "I don't really have much for friends. I have the people I work with, but I wouldn't really consider them a friend. Us getting lunch together on our breaks? Yeah, probably, but the odds of them helping me move furniture into a new apartment would likely be slim. So, thank you, Oliver."

"You needn't thank me for anything, poppet," he draped an arm around me, pulling me a little closer, "Now, I'm sure you're tired."

"Wrecked," I confirmed, nestling down into the couch, "Good night."

"What do you think you're doing?" Oliver helped me onto my feet, "Do you really think I'd make you sleep on the sofa? No, no, Amelia. A sofa is for sitting, not sleeping. I have a guest room upstairs. Come along."

I followed Oliver upstairs and down the hall. For this place being so huge, everything was so close together. Although, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't nice. Everything was kept so immaculate. I bet nothing had changed much from the time this house was built. It looked pretty nineteenth century. A lot of older houses lined these streets. That charm was half the reason why Reid and I moved into this neighborhood. Not to mention, my parents were nearby (take it or leave it) and I could walk to work, so we didn't need another car. It's a shame I'll have to leave it soon when I find my new apartment.

At the end of the hall, a nice, spacious bedroom sat tucked away, decorated in muted shades of yellow with a few dashes of gray here and there. And the bed…My god, the bed could fit three people. Worth it, "Is this your guest room, Oliver?"

"Yes, it is," he nodded, "Do you like it?"

"It's better than what I have now," I smiled, "You didn't have to do this for me."

"Stuff and nonsense," Oliver hushed me, practically tucking me in, "Are you comfortable?"

"Very."

"Good," he smiled back, walking toward the door, "Good night, darling. Rest well."

"Good night, Oliver." I shut my eyes and drifted off. Everything was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Right down to the last detail. I had a comfortable bed on my back, soft pillows under my head, and warm blankets hugging me with all the love in the world. It's almost too perfect. Maybe this is my cynicism acting up here, but it made me wonder when all of it was going to come crashing down. I told Oliver that I wouldn't be here long and I'm standing by that, but I still had the open invitation to come here whenever. It's late, Amy. It's probably sleep deprivation fucking with your head. I'll wake up in the morning feeling much better, I'm sure.

The next morning, a gentle melody played downstairs. It sounded so…So pleasant. But then, a sweet smell filled my nose. And bile filled my stomach. Oh, God…Don't tell me it's going to be another bribery breakfast. No. Oliver wouldn't be like that. Would he? I hope not. It's bad enough I had one of them yesterday. I don't need another one. I quickly got redressed in the clothes I had on yesterday (out of necessity. Although, they smelled like they were freshly laundered.) and cautiously, I walked downstairs, turning the corner into the kitchen. I've never seen so many pastries in one kitchen at one time. Sure, I saw them nicely lined up in the pastry case at work, but these…These looked incredible. And better than the ones from the café.

The source of the music came from a small speaker tucked away behind a standing mixer with Oliver humming along to it. Did I wake up in a Disney movie? Because I feel like I woke up in a Disney movie. He spun around on his heel with a tray of muffins in his hand and a smile on his face, "Good morning, Amelia! Did you sleep well?"

"Very," I nodded. That was an understatement. Last night was the best night of sleep I've had in weeks, "What's going on in here?"

"I've been doing some baking," Oliver tossed his oven mitts aside.

"I can see that," I stared over the enormous bounty on the counter. Breads, muffins, croissants, biscuits, scones…Fruit, chocolate. Sweet, savory. Anything anyone could've ever wanted sat on this counter, "Don't tell me you did all of this for me."

"Of course I did," he beamed, "You've been going through a hard time and I figured this could help make it better."

"Thank you," I couldn't think of anything else to say. This was downright ridiculous.

"You're welcome!" Oliver chimed, "Please. Sit and eat."

"I'd love to," I bit my lip, "But I need to be getting to work."

"There's still time for breakfast," he put his foot down, "Please? It's only seven o'clock and the café doesn't open until eight, right? Plenty of time."

"Well…" I couldn't say no to those big, doe eyes of his. And he already went through all the trouble. I pulled up a barstool, "Fine."

"Good," Oliver put a muffin in front of me, "Is there anything else you'd like?"

"I could stand an energy drink," I admitted, "You wouldn't happen to have any Red Bull in your fridge, would you?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" he chuckled to himself, "Those are so bad for you. All of those chemicals…Do you know what's in one of them?"

"The fuel my body needs to maintain its manic highs and lows and get me through my day?"

"You know," Oliver lectured me, "There are so many better sources to get your energy from. Aside from sleep."

"What can I say?" I shrugged, taking a bite of that muffin…Banana nut…Oh my god, "Oliver, this is incredible."

"I'm glad you like them, Amelia," he went on, "But you really shouldn't be drinking those energy drinks. That manic high has to come from somewhere."

"I'm sure it's from the taurine and the insane amount of caffeine," I assumed.

"That's enough to make your heart give out," Oliver squeaked, "I don't know how self-destructive you are, but I'd rather keep you around for as long as possible. Those would only shorten your lifespan. Here. Try this instead."

He took a teacup out of the china cabinet and slid it in front of me. Whatever this was, it smelled wonderful. Kind of earthy. Like the ground after it rains, "What is it?"

"It's black tea," he explained, "This is much better for you. Trust me. And I'm sure it'll make you feel much better than your energy drinks ever could."

"Let me guess," I teased, "Did you grow this in the backyard, too?"

"Actually, no," Oliver pointed to a small indoor garden on the windowsill, "If you'd really like to know, I grew it right here."

"You have a tea plant?"

"Of course I have a tea plant," he sat across from me, "Do you expect me to get my tea from the shops? They never do it quite right, so I grew my own plant and I can make any blend I'd like."

"You are an enigma, Oliver Kirkland," I smiled a bit, "But that's ok. Now, if it's all the same to you, I need to get to work. If I'm late again, my boss is going to have my head mounted over her door in her office."

"Alright," Oliver walked me to the door, "Have a good day at work, Amelia!"

"I will!" He's so sweet. It was nice to have breakfast without the guilt for a change.


	5. New Guests

I know staying with Oliver was a temporary situation, but something about this morning made me feel lighter. Maybe it was the breathtaking spread in the kitchen all for me without the guilt. Maybe it was my status of a newly single woman and not having Reid weighing me down anymore. Maybe it's the infectious kindness of my temporary roommate. I don't now what it was from and quite frankly, I didn't care. I'm just glad to be going into the office in a good mood.

"Morning, boss," I tied my apron around my waist. Right away, I got my hands in the pastry case, making sure everything looked nice.

"Good morning, Amy," Helen noticed y sudden change in demeanor, "You seem to be in higher spirits. What's got you smiling again?"

"I broke up with Reid last night," I grabbed a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the kitchen.

"Hold on," she stopped me, "What was that?"

"I broke up with Reid last night," I repeated, "What about it?"

"That's what I thought you said!" Helen squeaked, "Amy, honey, you two were together for four years. You can't tell me you're not in need of a pint of ice cream and a bad romcom."

"No," I shook my head, "I could go about this break up one of two ways. Either be horribly depressed and eat my feelings or I could suck it up and move on. I prefer the latter."

"I thought you kids would've worked out," she sighed, "What was the straw that broke the camel's back?"

"We got into it the other night," I told her, finishing up, "Things got messy. That's when I realized I deserved better."

"Good for you, Amy," Helen through an arm around me, "If you need somewhere to stay, I can clear out my guest room."

"I appreciate it," I smiled, "But I'm good. I'm staying with a new friend of mine until I'm back on my feet."

"That's nice," she took a seat at one of the tables throughout this little café, "And who is this friend?"

"I'm sure you've already met him," I figured, "Sort of anyway. He was in here when Reid was in here going off on his bitchy tangent."

"You're staying with the little British cutie?" Helen gasped, "Really?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Oliver. He's a sweetheart, Helen. He really is. You should've seen breakfast this morning. Last night was the first night I stayed with him, right?"

"I'm assuming so."

"But holy shit, Helen," I had flashbacks to the diabetic coma on the kitchen counter, "What he made for me this morning would've put our entire pastry case to shame. I'm pretty sure there were pastries there I had never even heard of before!"

"Lucky you!" she squeaked, "So, what's going to happen there?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, "But I like him, Helen. I'm not sure in what way yet, but I do like him."

"Well, honey," Helen got up, "I'm happy for you. Get to work. If you need me, I'll be in my office doing important paperwork."

"Mad libs don't count as important paperwork!" I called after her.

"I'm not doing mad libs!" she promised, "That was yesterday's paperwork!"

"The paper's crossword then!"

"That's tomorrow! Get to work, Amy!"

I loved my boss. She and I had a very special relationship where we could poke and prod at each other and I wouldn't have to worry about getting fired. Helen would tell me if I ever got a little out of line, but for the most part, she could take it. I'm sure she really did have important paperwork to do. We had an inspection coming up. If she didn't have something to present, we'd get a strike on our record. We've been doing pretty good so far and well…I didn't want to be out of a job.

And so, my workday had begun. I flipped the open sign and waited for the morning rush to come in. Some of the older folk that came in here were expecting their orders already waiting on the counter for them, but they had to wait their turn like everyone else. And did that piss them off…There was nothing I hated than overly entitled old people that think they deserve every scrap of respect in the world. I seem to remember being taught that respect is not given, but earned. They've done nothing to earn my respect. Especially since most of them think my generation think they're overly entitled. No, no, Frank. Sit your ass down and wait your turn like everyone else.

Although, once the rush started to die down, I pulled up a stool behind the counter and rested my aching little feet for a moment or two. Everything seemed to be in order. The pastry case wasn't too covered in little fingerprints. It kind of bummed me out to wipe them off, though. They were so cute! Much like most of the kids that left them there. However, this is still a business that still needed to function and apparently, fingerprints on the glass of the pastry case were unsightly.

But then, the front bell went ding and I looked toward the door. A guy in a dark leather jacket and a couple facial piercings came in, taking his sunglasses off and shoving them in his pocket. Oh, hello. He's cute. Immediately, I jumped up from the pastry case and ran behind the counter, trying not to come on too strong, "Hi."

"Hi."

"What can I get for you?" I asked him, settling myself down in the process.

"I'll have…" he skimmed over the menu, "A soy vanilla bean latte. Hot. Three shots of espresso. And eight pumps of sweetener."

"Ok," I nodded, punching in his order, "Anything else?"

"Do you have vegan donuts here?" he asked.

"Our cinnamon twists are vegan," I told him, "And they're one of my favorites."

"Don't need the life story," he shot me down. Ok…That was kind of rude. Oh, well, "I'll take two."

"And," I dug in the pastry case, "Can I get a name for the order?"

"I'm the only one in here," he pointed out, "Why would you need my name?"

"It's just for the order," I didn't need difficult customers. I had those already today.

"Allen," he smirked a bit, "I was just screwing with you. I'm sorry."

"Ok," I put his donuts on the counter, "You said a soy vanilla bean latte with three shots of espresso and eight pumps of sweetener, right?"

"That's right."

"Can I ask you something, Allen?" I started making his coffee. Something about his face seemed familiar.

"Sure," he sat on the counter, "What's up?"

"No, no, no!" I swept him off, "You can't sit on our counters!"

"Why not?" Allen shrugged, jumping down, "It's not like anyone else is in here. It's just you and me."

"The health department would have us hung for something like that," I explained, keeping my voice down, "And my boss is in her office. I'd rather not get fired for something I didn't do."

"What was your question?" he brought us back, taking a bite of one of his cinnamon twists, taken aback by it, "Damn…These are good."

"Told you," I went back to making his coffee, "Are you local?"

"Relatively local," Allen nodded, "Why?"

"Just curious," I gave him his coffee, "I've never seen you in here before. And I'm here every day."

"More of a reason for me to come in here," he admitted, gladly accepting his cup, "Thank you…What about you?"

"What about me?" I wondered.

"Are you local?"

"Yeah," I cleaned off the slight dribbling on the percolator's tray. That was a little oopsy on my part. The cup got away from me, "I used to live a couple blocks from here."

"And one more question, if I may," Allen asked.

"Go ahead," I allowed, "I'm an open book."

"Can I get a name?" he teased, "For the order?"

"I didn't order anything," I retaliated. This guy might have been a little rude at first, but he sure as hell is keeping me on my toes, "But it's Amy."

"Thank you, Amy," Allen took his sunglasses out of his pocket, "It's been a pleasure matching wits with you. Maybe we can do this again sometime."

"I'm here every day," I reminded him, "From opening until four. Unless it's Sunday. Then, none of us are here."

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he put his sunglasses on and gave me a halfhearted salute on his way out. Hold on…Did he even pay for his order?

This was more than just a slight battle of wits. Little shit just conned me out of six dollars worth of coffee and donuts! For whatever reason, I liked him. He was ok. With the exception of his slight rudeness and the fact that he scammed me. But he was alright. I grabbed six dollars out of my bag and slipped it in the register. He owed me. And when he comes in tomorrow, he can bet his ass I'm double charging him.

It was done and over with for now. Time to shake Allen out of my head and get back to work. Although, I knew I wouldn't be able to forget that face. Holy shit, he was pretty. This boy was model material. It wouldn't surprise me if that was his day job, but if that were the case, wouldn't he have only ordered one donut instead of two? Who was I to judge? That was his prerogative. He had to be, though. Looks like his shouldn't go to waste.

Time flew by just enough to almost get me to the end of my shift. Just as I was about to clock out a couple minutes early, a man came stumbling in. My god, was he drunk? Or on something? When I started working here, one of the first things Helen showed me was the panic button. If anything went down that I didn't like that put my physical safety in danger, I could push that button and it'd be an instant call to local authorities. And this guy was making me a little uneasy.

When he looked up at me, this guy had some of the worst dark circles I had ever seen. He didn't smell like alcohol and I didn't see any kind of puncture wounds, so I could rule out drunk and junkie. Maybe this guy was entirely sober, but he just needed some sleep. By the looks of him, that wouldn't surprise me. Still, I had to serve him. I could do this. I could do this. I had this handled.

"Hi," I was pleasant, but not overly uppity. Something tells me that would set this guy off in a heartbeat. Although, something tells me if he were well rested, a good chunk of his problems would be solved, "How can I help you?"

"French roast," he ordered, his voice sending chills through my body. I was always a sucker for an accent and this guy…He was definitely not as local as Allen, "Black. Three…Four shots of espresso."

"Sure," I nodded, punching in his order, "Would you like anything else?"

"No," he shook his head, immediately regretting it.

"Ok," I quickly made his coffee and handed it to him, not even bothering to ask his name. There was no way in hell I'd make this guy wait, "Here."

"Merci…" he dropped three dollars on the counter.

"You're welcome," I looked him over, "Are you ok?"

"You're not my therapist," he growled, turning on his heel and taking off. I don't know what the hell that was all about, but I hope he gets home ok. If that's even where he's going.

However, it was now time for me to clock out. I stuck my head in Helen's office and caught her in the middle of some actually important paperwork. I'm so proud of her, "Hey, Helen."

"Hi, Amy," she looked up from her order forms, "What can I do for you, honey?"

"Just thought I'd say my goodbyes," I told her, "I'm about to head home."

"Ok," Helen let me go, "Where should I have your mail forwarded? Oliver's house?"

"Shit…" I mumbled to myself, "I haven't even given that a thought. Just hold my paychecks here. Give them to me in person. You don't have to forward my paychecks to Oliver's house. It's fine."

"Good work today, Amy," she sent me off, "See you tomorrow."

"Bye!" I let Helen get back to her forms and I headed back to Oliver's. A nap sounded like a hell of a plan. Or just laying down for a little while. My poor little feet were killing me. When I walked into the house, the smell of wet paint hit me like a ton of bricks. Holy hell. That was strong. I thought they made shit they could put into the paint to make this smell a little less, "Oliver?"

"Hello, Amelia!" Oliver chimed from upstairs, coming to greet me, "Welcome home! I was wondering when you'd be back."

"I get off at four every day," I filled him in, "It usually takes me about fifteen minutes on foot to get from the café to here. Were you painting in here?"

"Merely some touch ups," he told me, "I'm sorry. I do have all the windows open. The fumes should dissipate before bed. At least out here anyway. Are you going to stay here again this evening?"

"If it's ok with you," I stipulated, "But I'm sure it is. I didn't want to make assumptions, though."

"Of course it is, poppet," Oliver assured, "Of course it is."

"But I'm not going to be around here long," I started heading upstairs to the guest room, looking for a place to lay down for a while.

"Oh?" I might as well have told him I shot his dog, "Why not…?"

"Because," I sat down at the edge of my bed, "I have a class to go to tonight. I may not be in school full time, but I'm almost done with a degree in world history."

"Oh…" Oliver let it go, "That's good to hear. So, what time would you be back?"

"I don't know," I thought it over, "Probably around six. That's when my class gets over."

"Six-thirty," he demanded, "And not a moment later. Dinner should be done by then anyway."

"Promise," I stuck my pinky out to him. But then, I got a look at the clock. Shit…It's getting too late for a nap, "But I really should be going. Do you think you could give me a minute, so I can change?"

"Sure," Oliver stepped outside.

I didn't have much to choose from. I was lucky I had the clothes I had with me, "Hey, Oliver?"

"Yes, Amelia?" he chirped from the door.

"I really hate to ask this," I winced, finishing myself up, "Because you've already done more than enough for me. And I'm so grateful for it."

"What is it, Amelia?" Oliver stopped me before I could spiral any more, "It's not any trouble."

"Could you go to my old house and get some of my stuff?" I requested, "I don't think Reid's going to be home yet. I just need my clothes and my laptop. Everything else, I already have. Look, I know it's a lot and if you're not ok with that, I can go after class. I might be a little late coming back here, but…"

"Amelia," he walked in, putting my face between his warm hands, "It's alright. I'd be glad to."

"Thank you," I started to settle down a little, "And if Reid does happen to be there…"

"I can handle it," Oliver promised, "Go on, darling. I wouldn't want you to be late. Going there or coming home."

"I won't." Seriously. Was karma finally throwing me a bone?


	6. World History

Oddly enough, I was looking forward to my world history class. It'll be nice to have a sense of normalcy after dealing with Reid and now, my possibility of moving in with Oliver. These last few days have been a hell of a whirlwind. It's making my head hurt. But what better way of killing the pain than with some newly added knowledge? I picked a seat in the middle of the classroom and started setting up my things. It's too bad I didn't have my laptop. It made writing my notes so much easier. Oh, well. That's what I have a notebook for. Alright, Professor. Hit me with your most monotonous lecture.

Although, before class started, I felt a strange lump in my jacket pocket. I didn't remember putting anything in my jacket pockets before I left. My phone was in my bag. My wallet was in my bag. Anything I needed for class was either in my arms or in my bag. What the hell would be in my pockets? But then, things started making sense when I pulled out a note:

Don't let this spoil your dinner.

-Oliver

Yay! More Oliver candy! I popped the light pink bonbon in my mouth and went about my business. Alright, Professor. Now I'm ready for your most monotonous lecture. I got candy from Oliver in my mouth. I have a smile on my face and joy in my heart. There's nothing you can do to make me fall asleep in your class today.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jones," the professor scolded, "Could you please, for just one class, NOT have your feet on the desk please?"

"Why?" a familiar arrogant voice challenged him, "I'm comfortable. I'm not hurting anyone or distracting anyone. You still get to teach. I see no problems here."

"Just…Please…" he let out an exasperated sigh, "I know this isn't your usual day for this class, but I don't want to ask you every time you walk through my door."

"Whatever…" I could hear the eyeroll from here. And I was three rows in front of him.

"You know," I covertly moved back a few rows, "We really need to stop running into each other like this."

"Hey!" the troublemaker chimed, "The chick from this afternoon."

"She has a name," I insisted, "It's Amy. We've had this conversation."

"Yeah! That one!" Allen pointed out, "Since when do you take a world history class?"

"Since the beginning of the semester," I told him, "It's my last one and I'm done."

"Lucky you," he scoffed, "I hate this class."

"Oh, come on," I gave him a nudge, "It's not that bad."

"I've been on the bubble of failing it since I signed up for it," Allen admitted, "I swear, the professor has it out for me. He fucking hates me."

"If you're looking for a tutor," I offered, "I'd be more than happy to. My notes are painfully organized. Some may say on a borderline obsessive level."

"Really?" he wondered, "You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "If you're that behind."

"Thanks, but no thanks, Amy," Allen turned me down, "My brother tutors me. If I go to someone else, it'd break his heart. Maybe I should go to you."

"No!" I squeaked, "Don't do that. I'm sure your brother can tutor you just fine."

"His teaching methods are a little unorthodox," he shrugged, "But hell, they work."

"That's good."

"I don't appreciate the firecrackers at my feet for wrong answers," Allen went on, "But like I said. It works."

"He does not throw firecrackers at your feet for wrong answers," I rolled my eyes, "There's no way."

Allen untied his boot, took it off, took off his sock, and showed me the scarred and blistered sides of his feet, "Yes. Yes, he does. They can hurt like a bitch, but I'll be damned if I don't know when the War of 1812 was."

"Yeah," I giggled under my breath, "1812. That one doesn't take an Einstein to figure out. My god, Allen, maybe you do need tutoring."

"Bad example," he pouted, "But you get what I mean. Yeah, my feet are all blistered and scarred to hell, but deep down, he means well. Alfred's a good dude. A little excitable, but a good dude. You'd like him. He's coming to get me after class. Maybe you should come meet him."

"I can't," I shot him down, "I have to go straight home after class. But maybe another time."

"Yeah," Allen gave me a nod, "That'd be cool, too."

"Good," I smiled a little. Was he flirting with me? Or was I just in a rebound haze? Maybe it's both. I haven't done that whole flirting thing in so long I forgot what it was like. Or even how to do it. How do I flirt? Is it just supposed to come naturally or should I actually have game by now? Chances are, I was horribly overthinking this, "But if you're ever tired of your brother hitting you with firecrackers, let me know and I'd be more than happy to tutor you."

"Thanks, Amy," he smiled back, "I appreciate it."

As class came to an end and Allen and I parted ways, I headed straight for Oliver's…Well…I guess it's our house now. For the time being. Until I find a new apartment, which I'll need to get on right away. I know Oliver says I'm not a burden on him and that it's ok I stay as long as I need to, but that doesn't mean I need to be there for the next six months while I find a new place to live. Maybe a month or two. At least I hope so.

When I walked in, a wave of warmth and herbs hit me right in the face. Oh my god…It's going to suck leaving here. I hate that Oliver can cook. It keeps me here and makes me never want to leave. Don't do that to yourself, Amy. Even though Oliver's cooking doesn't ever come with strings, you can't use it as a crutch. It'll make you lazy and you don't want that. Save up your paychecks with what you already have in the bank and you'll be able to get a reasonable apartment in a neighborhood where you won't get stabbed.

"Oliver?" I called out, "I'm back!"

"Hello, Amelia!" Oliver chimed, thrilled to see me by the sounds of it, "Right on time."

"As promised," I took my jacket off and laid it on the steps. Off to the side, so no one would step on it. Those stairs were wide enough. It'd be fine, "Where are you?"

"The dining room," he directed me, "I just finished putting dinner on the table. Come here."

All I had to do was follow the smell. It's beautiful. Like Sunday dinner at my grandma's house, but somehow elevated. I didn't understand it until I saw the table. This was worse than breakfast. So much worse than breakfast. Oh, Oliver…You make it so hard to want to leave this place. I knew the day would come, but for now…For now, this would do. This would so do.

"My god, Oliver," I gasped, "Must you always cook a page out of a magazine?"

"Why not?" he shrugged, "You've worked hard today. I've worked hard today. We both deserve this. Please. Sit with me."

"My pleasure," I took the empty seat next to him.

"How was your day?" Oliver asked, carving the small rotisserie chicken in the middle of the table with surgeon like precision.

"Pretty good," I reported, "I went to work, served people their coffee as the asked for it. Went to class. Nothing too terribly exciting. What about you?"

"I did some painting upstairs," he told me, "I went to your old house."

"Yeah," I winced, "How'd it go?"

"Quite well," Oliver started piling food on my plate, then his own, "Although…"

"What?" Oh, goddammit, Reid. What did you do? No. Amy…Don't overreact, "You didn't run into Reid, did you?"

"I did," he nodded, "But that was taken care of. As I promised. I could handle your ex-boyfriend, Amelia. I told you that before you left for class. He doesn't scare me."

"Scares the shit out of me," I mumbled to myself.

"Amelia!" Oliver squeaked, "A young lady like yourself shouldn't sully her tongue with cursing. You should know better."

"Sorry," I bit my tongue, "I should know better, but do I?"

"Regardless," he shook it off, "I didn't have much of a problem with Reid. Although, he did wonder how I got into your house."

"I gave you my key," I remembered, "Right?"

"That's right," Oliver dug in his vest pocket, taking my key out of it, "And I believe that belongs to you."

"It's not like I need it anymore," I took it back, "What do I do with it?"

"If it were me," he suggested, "I'd file it down and throw it away."

"I don't know," I thought it over, "This key has a lot of memories to it. This was the first house I lived in outside of my parents' house. It has sentimental value."

"Then, keep it," Oliver insisted, "Put it somewhere you'll never forget it. But promise me something, Amelia. Don't let the memories with _him _cloud your nostalgia for the house."

"I won't." The sooner I could start suppressing Reid ever happened, the better, "So, what was the problem when you went to my house? Other than Reid being there?"

"You and I need to talk about your wardrobe," he cringed.

"What about it?" I gave him a look, trying not to be insulted.

"It doesn't suit you, darling," Oliver pointed out, "If you don't mind me saying so."

"I don't," I let it go, "But what do you mean, it doesn't suit me? It serves its purpose."

"I think you could do better," he took a sip from his water glass, "It's too dark and some of it looks like it's met the business end of a knife fight a time or two before."

"I make rent," I explained, "I pay my bills. It's not often I treat myself with a better wardrobe, so forgive me for it not being up to your standards."

"It's not that it's not up to my standards," Oliver clarified, "It's just that it could be much better. You're doing yourself a disservice with it, Amelia. This wasn't intended to be an attack on you. More so constructive criticism than anything. Could I ask you a question?"

"As long as it's not about my wardrobe," I stipulated, nursing the wound to my pride. I knew it wasn't the best, but I didn't think Oliver was going to judge me so harshly, "Go ahead."

"When is your next day off?" he wondered.

"Sunday. Why?"

"Because," Oliver decided, "We'll take care of that little problem then. For now, finish your dinner."

"I don't think I could eat anymore," I leaned back in my chair, horribly full, "But thank you. I really do appreciate this, Oliver. You didn't have to take me in like this."

"But I did anyway," he took my hand, "It has been nothing short of a pleasure having you here, Amelia. You can't imagine what it's been like just having me and my thoughts in this big house. It's nice to have someone else here to talk to."

Why does he do that? Why does he keep making it harder and harder for me to leave? First, it was dinner, which was absolutely fucking incredible. Then, he had to go and say that. Oliver didn't just take me in out of the kindness of his heart. I'm sure that was a main reason, but he's just lonely. I couldn't blame him. I was, too. Even though I had Reid, I had my days where I didn't even recognize the man anymore. He was that far gone. And that left me on my own. Until I found Oliver. I guess we found comfort in each other.

"I think I'm going to take a shower and go to bed," I got up from the table, "Do you need any help with the dishes?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" Oliver shot me down, "My new roommate or not, you are still a guest in my house, Amelia. I couldn't ask you to do that. It wouldn't be right. Go on. Go take your shower and go to bed. You don't have to worry about a thing."

"Ok," I wasn't going to fight him. Oliver was kind of a stickler for that whole proper thing. Hell, he bitched at me for cursing. If that's not enforcing what's proper, I don't know what is. Although, I'm curious as to what Sunday was going to bring. It made me nervous to see what Oliver's idea of what suited me better would be. Even though I knew he'd yell at me for it, I helped him clear the table. I was more than capable of bringing my own plate into the kitchen.

"What did I tell you, Amelia?" There it was. The patented scolding of Oliver Kirkland, "I have it handled. Go."

"Fine," I dropped it, "Good night, Oliver."

"Good night, darling," Oliver sent me off and I headed upstairs.


	7. Humour Me

For the next couple of days, the routine was the same. I'd wake up to Oliver's unnecessarily massive breakfast, go to work, come home, and spend an evening just the two of us. It was a simple existence and I was really starting to love it. Somehow, Oliver managed to make things more and more difficult for me to leave. I knew I'd have to eventually, but for now, I liked what I had. It's what I always thought I wanted with Reid. A life of simple domesticity. Coming home to someone who cared the way Oliver did, but I never got it. It's a damn shame, but better to find this late than never. Am I saying I'm falling in love with my new roommate? No. But has it been nice to have a friend like this? Absolutely. Especially on that Sunday morning.

"Amelia…" a gentle voice spoke at my bedside, "Wake up, poppet. Today's going to be a big day for us and you need to wake up."

"Oliver…" I slowly opened my eyes, "Why are you over my bed?"

"Because," Oliver explained himself, "You need to wake up. We can't just lay in bed all day."

"Why not?" I rolled over, burying myself in the blankets a little deeper.

"Amelia…" his voice took on a much more commanding tone, "You told me last night that you'd be ok with this."

"But I'm tired…" I groaned, "I appreciate the wake-up call, Oliver, but it's my one day off. Let me sleep."

"Maybe we need to adjust your sleep schedule a little," Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, "If you're not getting enough sleep."

"I'm ok," I promised, "Really, I am. But I do want to sleep in a little. Like I said, it's my one day off."

"But we're also burning valuable daylight," he pointed out, his hand on my shoulder, "And you did give me your word that you'd be perfectly fine with this."

"Fine," I grumbled, opening my eyes back up, "I'm up."

"Very good," Oliver approved, taking joy in his little victory, "Why don't you go get ready and we'll be out in an hour? Is that ok?"

"Yeah," I shoved my fist in my eye, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. But I knew better. Oliver may be the best roommate I've ever had, but goddamn, is he the worst alarm clock. It's better than getting a five o'clock wake-up call to Reid finally coming home smelling like the inside of a distillery. Little victories, I guess. Maybe a shower will help.

That's another one of those things that kicked ass about staying with Oliver. The shower's water pressure was better than our house. So much better. It beat the shit out of me in the best way and it felt so good…I could get lost in Oliver's shower and die a happy girl. But with that shower came some heavy thinking. I had no idea what Oliver had planned for today. I didn't know what came along with spending my first day off with him. We had never spent an entire day together like this. As long as he didn't try waking me up again, we'd be good. What harm can come in winging it?

"Hey, Oliver," I walked into the kitchen, clean, dressed, and half asleep, "Do you have any coffee?"

"I don't keep coffee in my house," Oliver told me, "I figured the tea plants I kept would've given that away. Besides, you don't need that."

"Speak for yourself, sister," I scoffed. And the café's closed today. Oh, well. I'm sure I can find some coffee throughout our travels today.

"Besides," he scolded, "What did I tell you about caffeine? It's not good for you."

"It's life's essence, though," I pouted, sleep and now, caffeine deprived, "I'm ready to go."

"Are you sure about that?" Oliver stopped me, "Because it's a bit on the nippy side out this morning."

"So, I'll grab a jacket," I shrugged, "No problem."

"Not what I meant," he took my hand, "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" I wondered.

"Just trust me," Oliver insisted, bringing me into his bathroom. He dug around in the obsessively well organized drawer and pulled out a small blow dryer, "Your hair is still soaking wet and I wouldn't want you getting sick."

I mean…I had short hair and it dried awfully quick. A few shakes and a stiff breeze and I was good. But instead, I sat while Oliver dried my hair for me. It's strange. As I watched him in the mirror, he was so…precise about it, drying it in meticulous sections instead of all at once I like normally did. Using a brush instead of his hand like I normally did. As foreign as this was to me, I must admit…It's kind of nice. If I were doing it the way he was, I would've pulled my shoulder by now.

"There," Oliver turned the dryer off and put the brush on the counter, "Much better. How did I do?"

"Almost a professional level job," I praised, looking myself over in the mirror, "You've had to have done this before."

"A few times," he admitted, "Not necessarily for myself, but that…Was a long time ago. Nevertheless, we can go. Now, you're ready. And if I might be so bold, you look awfully adorable today, Amelia."

"Thank you," I blushed a little, "I try."

"Let's go see if we can improve on perfection."

Oliver really was a jack of all trades. Since we've met, he's been a nurse, a Michelin chef, and a personal stylist, as well as my alarm clock. Not to mention, he dealt with Reid. If there was an award for being an incredible human being, it'd definitely say Oliver Kirkland on the little gold plaque. And so the two of us headed downtown. We had a few cute shops downtown and I had to applaud him for wanting to shop locally. Going to the mall once in a while was fun, but the local businesses needed to stay afloat, too. And in the golden age of online shopping, they're trying their damnedest.

As we walked around the first store, I had found a denim jacket that I fell hopelessly in love with. Normally, I didn't do denim jackets because I always wore jeans. Something about wearing the two together didn't sit well with me. Too much denim on denim, regardless of the fade. But this jacket with a few enamel pins on the pocket? I'd be down. Maybe a hoody underneath it, if it's a little cold outside. I liked it. This may come home with me. That is…Until I looked at the price of it…I couldn't afford dropping a hundred dollars on a denim jacket. I could feel the quality of it and I knew it'd last me a lifetime, but…I hardly had the money to spend on anything today. Yet somehow, Oliver managed to talk me into it.

"Amelia…" Speak of the enabling little devil, "Do you think you could humor me for today?"

"It depends," I walked over to him and felt a knot in my stomach. I didn't like the rack he was standing by, "What are you giving me?"

"Just a few things," Oliver handed me some hangers with nothing on them but ruffled pastel dresses. They were pretty, but they made my skin crawl.

"I don't know," I cringed, "Dresses aren't really my style. Especially ones like these. I'm lucky if I wear one on a special occasion."

"Oh, come on," he gave me a little nudge, "I noticed you didn't have any in your closet when I got your clothes from your ex-boyfriend and a young lady such as yourself should have at least a few. Just try them on…Please?"

"Well…" I am only trying them on. It's not like I'm buying them, "Fine. I'll try _one _on. Pick your favorite."

"Thank you," Oliver handed me the mint colored dress and I made myself comfortable in a dressing room. As comfortable as I'd be anyway. I could do this. As much as I hated it, I peeled off my jeans and my t-shirt and threw the dress over my head. Oh, shit…It fits. Not only does it fit, but it fits incredibly well. And it looked good on me. But something about it still didn't sit well with me. Maybe it's the childhood flashbacks to my mom wanting to put me in pageants, but I'd always find a mud puddle to play in beforehand. Maybe it's the fact that I looked like a china doll and that wasn't my thing. Ugh…

"I don't know about this one, Oliver," I shuddered, not recognizing the sweet angel in the mirror.

"Show me," Oliver insisted.

"No way," I stayed put, "This shouldn't see the light of day."

"Come on," he begged, "Please? I'm sure it's not that bad."

"It's…" I tried not to make eye contact with myself, "No. It's not ok."

"You're exaggerating," Oliver was bound and determined to see me, "I'll be the judge of that."

"Fine!" I hated this. The sooner we could get this argument over with, the sooner I could get out of this damn dress and start suppressing the fact that it was ever on my body. Reluctantly, I walked out of the dressing room, throwing my arms up in defeat, "There. Happy?"

"Amelia," he turned into a puddle, "You're adorable! How can you not like this?"

"Because it's not me," I reiterated, "It's…No. I can't. This was fun while it lasted, but we're not getting any of them."

"If you say so," Oliver let it go. For now anyway, "It's such a shame you don't like it, Amelia. It really did fit you quite well. And…You were rather cute in it."

"It's not my thing," I shut the door behind me and immediately got it off my skin. I needed a shower. Or therapy. Or coffee. Or a healthy mixture of all three. But then, in a stroke of absolute optimism, because kicking a man while he's down is always the right way to go, my phone decided to start ringing. Joy. Relax, Amy. Just answer, "Hello?"

"Hi, Amy," Mom chimed.

"Hi, Mom," I sat on the bench in the dressing room, "What's up?"

"Are you busy?" she asked.

"When?" I didn't like where this was going.

"Tonight," Mom wondered, "Because your father and I miss you. It'd be nice if you came around once in a while."

"What do you want, Mom?" I groaned, hitting my head on the wall.

"I just want you to come over for dinner," she guilted me, "Is that so terrible of me?"

"No," I rolled my eyes. But forgive my skepticism. Usually, there are strings attached, "And you want me to come tonight?"

"Please?"

"Ok," I nodded, peeking out of my dressing room at the possible scissors for those strings, "Can I bring someone?"

"What kind of someone?" she wondered, digging in places she shouldn't.

"Just someone." Swear to God…

"Well," Mom jabbed, "Don't you recover quickly?"

"I…" There are better things left unargued, "We haven't gotten there yet. I don't even know if we wever will. So, can I bring someone or no?"

"Go ahead," she sounded way too excited about this, "I look forward to meeting him. I just hope to God he's a vast improvement over the last one. I'll see you tonight!"

Click.

This may end in disaster. Mostly because my mother likes to assume I'm going to or already have sleep with every man that comes into my life that isn't my dad. It's miserable. I slid down the wall and onto the floor, fighting every urge in my body saying to ram my head in the wall. Although, the light tapping on the door snapped me out of my hellish headspace.

"Amelia?" Oliver spoke gently, "Are you alright, darling?"

"Wonderful," I grumbled, "My mom just called, saying dinner was at their house tonight."

"Does that mean I don't get to cook for you this evening?" If I didn't know any better, I'd think I just broke his heart.

"Actually…" I bit my lip, "I hate to do this to you, Oliver, but will you do me a huge favor and come with me? Please? I love my parents, but I don't think I could handle a dinner with them right now. My mom already assumes we're sleeping together. My dad's probably going to put you under a microscope. Or me for that matter."

"You humored me," Oliver stuck his arm in the crack of my door, offering me his hand, "I'll be more than happy to humor you. Are you decent? Can you come out now?"

I pushed the door open (fully dressed. I'm not that brave.) and threw myself into his arms, hugging him tight, "Thank you, Oliver. I really didn't want to go through that alone."

"I'd never," he assured, running his hand down my back, "You're welcome, love. It's my pleasure. Now, come on. There are more stores for us to see. Is that alright?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Let's go."

He's perfect. Absolutely perfect. When I first started dating Reid, asking him to go to my parents' house for dinner was a fate worse than pulling teeth. But Oliver…Oliver was more than happy to go to bat for me. Not because he wanted to meet my parents (maybe that's the case, too), but because he didn't want me to have to go through that alone. I know I told Mom that I wasn't thinking our relationship would really evolve into anything serious, but he sure is making a hell of a case for himself.


	8. Sleeping Baby

Does it look like I'm dreading this? Because I'm totally dreading this. I didn't have any intentions on going to my parents' house for dinner in the first place, but because misery loves company, I'm dragging Oliver along with me. I'm going to owe him big time, but I sure as hell didn't want to be put through the wringer alone. If I had my way, I'd be sitting at home with a dirty book in my hand and my headphones in my ears. Although, I wouldn't say no to the gratuitous game of Scrabble between Oliver and me. But I didn't want to go to my parents' house…Yet here I was, about to go to my parents' house with my new roommate, who my mother already thinks I'm having sex with. Pray for me.

"Should I bring anything, Amelia?" Oliver wondered, standing in the kitchen with his jacket on already, buried in the fridge.

"You don't have to," I assured, "Mom's probably got everything taken care of."

"It'd be rude to show up emptyhanded, though," he thought it over, "Hmm…I'll bring a tart. Cherry should do."

"You really don't have to do that, Oliver," I shot him down.

"Nonsense," Oliver brushed me off, taking out a container of custard, a carton of fresh cherries, and a premade crust.

"We're about to walk out the door!" I squeaked, "You're going to make one now?"

"I always have custard on hand," he explained, spooning it into the crust. By the looks of it, it's a sugar cookie crust. Yummy, "And there's a method to my madness. Once it's together, all it needs to do is set. By the time we're done with dinner, it'll be ready."

"You're too much," I shook my head, "You really are."

"And you're being a little dramatic," Oliver teased, "It's really no trouble, Amelia. Promise."

"That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about before we get there," I bit my lip, "Could you do me one more really big favor?"

"What's that, love?" he strategically placed the pitted cherries in neat rows across the custard.

"Can you…not call me Amelia while we're there?" I requested, treading lightly, "I don't want them to talk when we leave."

"Why can't I call you by your name?" Oliver wondered, his usual cheeriness falling from his face, "It's so beautiful."

"It's not that," I tried to cover my ass, "It's just…No one, and I mean no one, calls me Amelia. Unless I'm in trouble. The only reason you get away with it is because I've hardly heard you call me anything else."

"Because that's your name," he put his foot down, "I know everyone else calls you Amy, but I like calling you Amelia."

"Please?" I begged, "It's just for tonight. And only while we're there. That's it. Then, you can call me Amelia until you're blue in the face."

"Well…" I could see it all over Oliver's face. He wasn't having it. But then, his discontent softened, "Only for tonight, I suppose. I can manage that."

"Thank you," a giant wave of relief crashed over me, "It's just that my breakup with Reid is still fresh and I don't want to deal with that can of worms. The less I can stress about tonight, the better."

"Alright," he let it go, wrapping up his cherry tart, "Shall we, darling?"

"Let's get this over with…"

"No, no, no, poppet," Oliver lifted my chin up, "That's not what we say to that. It's dinner with your parents. This should be a happy occasion."

"It should be," I agreed, "But…"

"Well then," he decided, "We just won't let them see us sweat, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

"I've been doing it for years," I confessed, "It just…It gets exhausting after a while. I shouldn't have to put on armor every time I go to my parents' house. It'll either be a million and one questions from my dad or guilt trip from my mom. And it's not like I could say no. There'd be no way she'd let me."

"It's not like they know where my house is," Oliver pointed out, "However, we did say we'd be there. It's only going to be for a little while. We can do it."

"I guess…" I sighed out, wanting to do this as much as I wanted a pap smear.

"There we are," he took my hand, "Well then…Into the fire?"

"Into the fire." Oliver couldn't have said it better. Because this was going to be my own private hell. I knew it. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. Positives, Amy. Try to look at the positives. Mom's cooking never disappoints. I might catch them on a good day and I won't be under a microscope. Because I know damn well Mom didn't make dessert, I have Oliver's cherry tart to look forward to. There's no way that could be bad. That man couldn't make any terrible baked goods if he wanted to. Maybe this night won't be all that bad. Even though I was still kind of beat from the long day of shopping Oliver took me on, I could do this. I would do this.

Oliver and I walked a few blocks over to my parents' house, fully prepared for what may lie in store. Gently, I knocked on the door, hoping they wouldn't hear me. That way, I could still say I was here, but it looked like they weren't home. However, I knew that plan would backfire. Dad's hearing was sharp as a fucking tack. And in this case, it betrayed me terribly.

"Amy!" he threw his arms around me, hugging me tight. What the hell? Did I catch them on a good day? I think I did, "It's good to see you on good terms this time."

"Hi, Dad," I struggled for air. Dad's hugs were always tighter than a vice.

"Who's this?" Dad looked over my shoulder at the bundle of sunshine behind me.

"This is Oliver," I introduced him, "He's my…new roommate."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Williams," Oliver smiled sweetly in the way that only Oliver could.

"You, too," Dad wasn't quite sure what to make of him. As long as he gave him a chance, that's all I care about. But then, out of nowhere, I heard the sound of a crying child. Possibly toddler.

"Amy?" Mom called from the kitchen, "Do you think you could get Sebastian for me? I'm elbow deep in here!"

That's why Mom asked me to come over. Dad's uncomfortable handling babies and Mom was going to be in the kitchen, making dinner. My cousin was a single mom who worked full time. I had nothing but the utmost respect for her. However, I was almost a hundred percent certain she had a regular babysitter. Which begs the question…

"So," I wondered, scooping Sebastian up from the floor. He didn't seem to be hurt, but damn, he was cranky, "What's the occasion you got the little one?"

"Your cousin's sitter couldn't make it," Dad filled me in, "So, she asked us if we'd take the baby while she was at work. And here he is."

"What's the matter, Sebastian?" I bounced him on my hip, trying to get him to calm down, "Talk to me."

But then…Something definitely talked to me. I knew what had him fussy. Sebastian was the cleanest baby I have ever met in my life. If he was the slightest bit dirty, he'd tell someone. In this case, the kid's pants were full. That's what it was. He just needed a quick diaper change and he'd be right as rain again. Now, if I were Sebastian's diaper bag…I took a good look around the room for something blue. Sure enough, there it was, right on the couch.

"Amel…Amy," Oliver stopped himself, "Do you need any help?"

"I got this," I let him go, already halfway done. With a few baby wipes and a shake of the powder, Sebastian was all better. Although, he was still a little on the cranky side…and shoving his fist in his eye, "Hey, Mom?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"When was the last time Sebastian had a nap?" I asked.

"This morning. Why?"

I dug a bottle out of his bag and got some milk from the fridge, "Because chances are, he's tired."

"You think so?" Mom wondered, looking him over, "He seems ok to me."

Sebastian laid his head on my shoulder. Yeah. He's tired, "I'm sure."

"Look, Amy," she blew me off, "I've done this a time or two before. There's no way he's tired."

"We'll see." Sebastian, you have no idea how good you got it. I stuck his bottle in his mouth and the two of us went into the family room on the other side of the house. He needed quiet in order to sleep and heaven forbid I ask Dad to turn down the TV. Besides, the living room may have had the recliner, but the family room had the rocking chair. To no surprise, Oliver followed close behind, peeking in on us.

"Amelia?" he kept his voice down, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I barely spoke above a whisper, cradling Sebastian in my arms. Sebastian looked up curiously at Oliver. Much like my dad, I don't think he knew what to think of him either. Don't worry, Sebastian. He's one of the good ones. I know he's not Reid, but Reid was a dick. With each pass on the rocking chair, my eyes started getting a little heavier. It's nice to sit down for a change. I've been on my feet all day. Well…Mostly all day. There were some brief moments where Oliver and I sat down, but aside from that, I'm exhausted.

"If you'd like," Oliver offered, "I can take the baby, too."

"It's alright," I brushed him off, glancing down at those big, green eyes of Sebastian's getting closer and closer to shutting for a while, "We got this handled, don't we, kid? Really, though, Oliver. I appreciate it, but I got it. A little power nap will do us both some good, huh?"

"Alright," he dropped it, "Are you sure?"

"Oliver," I giggled, "Yes, I'm sure. It's sweet that you're worried about me, but you don't have to. I got this."

"Hey, Amy!" Mom yelled from the kitchen. Like an idiot. Sebastian twitched in my arms. Shit! No. No, no, no. Stay asleep. Stay asleep…His eyes fully closed. Thank you, Jesus. But then, the pitter patter of Mom's little feet echoed through the hall, "Is Sebastian asleep?"

"Yes, Mom," I nodded, "He's out."

"Good," she applauded, "Because I could use a hand in the kitchen."

"I can help," Oliver immediately stepped in. And again, I say, thank you, Jesus.

"Who are you?" Mom wondered, giving him a mistrusting look.

"My name is Oliver," he introduced himself, "I'm Amy's roommate."

"_You're _her roommate?" her eyes lit up, "Can you cook, Oliver?"

"I trust this man's cooking with my life," I vouched for him, "He's good."

"Alright then," Mom allowed it, "Come with me."

"Yes, ma'am," Oliver nodded. Just as she walked out, I grabbed the bottom of his shirt, catching him off guard, "Excuse me, did you need something?"

"Thank you," I smiled, "And I apologize for any off color remark my mother makes between now and dinner."

"My pleasure," he kissed the back of my hand, "Didn't you say something about a power nap, Amelia?"

"Yeah," I mulled it over, "But I can just put Sebastian down and come help in the…"

"No," Oliver stopped me, brushing my hair out of my face, "Rest, darling. I can handle your mother on my own just fine. You chastise for me worrying about you, yet here you are, worrying about me. It's alright."

"Ok." He really twisted my arm around for that, but I suppose clocking out for a few minutes wouldn't kill me, "Thank you, Oliver."

"No need to thank me," he assured, "Thank me by taking care of yourself, ok?"

"Ok." As Oliver left to stare into the jaws of the beast, I looked down at my sleeping cousin in my arms. It's just you and me, Sebastian. Oliver's going to deal with Aunt Katherine for me like the sweetheart he is. I suppose I can shut my eyes for a second. Just for a second, though. I didn't know what time dinner would be done, but I'm sure it won't be done in a second.

I don't know what I did to deserve someone like Oliver. He's been nothing but a dream since we met. Was it just because Reid was such an asshole that I finally got something good? Or was there going to be a shoe dropping any minute now? He had to have a weird, vestigial toe or something wrong with him. But as far as I could tell, this man was practically Mary Poppins. Should I be worried? I don't think so. My skepticism is all Reid's doing. And overthinking isn't going to do me any favors. Besides, I told Oliver that I'd power nap. For a second. Well…I did say a second, but I may or may not have lied. Ok. I totally lied.

"Amelia…" a soft, gentle voice spoke in my ear. One I hadn't heard since this morning, "Wake up, darling. Dinner's done and it's been a while since we last ate. You must be hungry."

"I'm starving…" I groaned, slowly but surely waking up to Oliver sitting on the other side of me, "Good morning."

"Good morning," he smiled, warming me inside, "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yeah," I could hardly feel my left arm. Sebastian had a big head and he was laying on a nerve, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Probably thirty minutes," Oliver figured, "I almost didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful."

"I needed every minute of it," I admitted, catching a smell coming from the kitchen, "Oh my God…"

"You should see dinner," he chuckled under his breath, "Your mother had a humble start…But then, I may or may not have taken over."

"Let me guess," I assumed, "It was the first time you made me breakfast all over again, wasn't it?"

"I will admit I got carried away," Oliver shrugged, "But I'm sure it will be eaten. And it will be delicious."

"Like I told my mom," I got just enough momentum to get up from the rocking chair and put Sebastian down in his playpen. That way, no one has to worry about him, "I trust your cooking with my life. There's no way it can ever be bad."

"You flatter me, love," he blushed a bit, offering me his hand, "Come now. We shouldn't let dinner get cold."

"Ok." I really was starving. While Sebastian was asleep, my stomach growled and it scared the shit out of him. Scared the shit out of me, too. As long as he was getting his nap, that was all that mattered. I gave Sebastian a little kiss and followed Oliver into the dining room, where enough food to feed the block, possibly the entire neighborhood, covered almost every inch of the table. Fortunately, I wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Holy shit, Katherine," Dad gasped, "Did you leave any food in the fridge?"

"That's the weirdest thing, though," Mom chirped, "A lot of this was made from some of the leftovers in the fridge. Oliver, you are truly some kind of sorcerer."

"Thank you, Mrs. Williams," Oliver smiled politely. However, there was something…Off. Something in that smile that seemed like he was suppressing something.

"You were right, Amy," she sat down, completely oblivious to his bitterness, "like a dream."

"I told you." And I felt that dream's hand slip into mine, putting me more at ease. Maybe I was just overreacting and misread his body language. Or he's a master of suppression.

"So…" Mom began, taking my good feeling away. The word 'so' coming out of her mouth was rarely a good thing, "How did you two meet?"

I had to be careful. If I say too much, it's bound to piss someone off and I don't want to deal with that. On that same token, if I say too little, Mom's going on a digging expedition. And I sure as hell didn't want to deal with that. I didn't have the stomach for it tonight and I'm just waking up from a nap. I thought my answer over carefully. However, Oliver beat me to the punch.

"We met one night in the park," he remembered, staying just the right level of cryptic. If I didn't know any better, I'd think Oliver already knew how to work my mother. I'm impressed, "She was sitting on a bench all by herself and I couldn't leave her in the state she was in."

"Was this before or after Reid, Am?" Mom started digging, plotting the timeline in her head.

"Sort of in the middle." There's no harm in honesty, right? Please don't come back to bite me in the ass, "It was after Reid and I got into a bad fight, but before we officially broke up. After that fight, I met Oliver. And we've pretty much been living together ever since."

"It's a little soon for that," Dad glared down the table. Probably something about protecting my virtue. Now wouldn't be the best time to tell him that waved bye-bye long ago. Within the first couple months of Reid and me dating, "Don't you think?"

"We're just roommates, Dad," I assured, stuffing my face, "It's not like I'm sleeping with him."

"Just making sure," he backed off, "Because I've heard some things about how you can be, Amy. You rush into things. Then, next thing you know, you're buying a house with the guy and end up in a four year relationship that only makes you miserable."

"I would never do anything to hurt her," Oliver promised, "It's like she said. We are just roommates at this point. Whether or not we become more than just roommates is still up in the air. I've seen the aftermath of her last boyfriend. I'm not rushing to fill those shoes any time soon. If we're being honest, from what I've already seen, those aren't the shoes that need filling."

A few squeaks and babbles came from the baby monitor on the counter. Looks like Sebastian's up. I took the lack of movement at the table as my cue, "I got it."

"Actually," Oliver stopped me, "We should be going. It's getting late and we've had a long day. It was lovely being here. Thank you for having us."

"You're welcome back any time, sweetheart," Mom allowed.

"Ok," I started heading for the family room, "Let me go say goodbye to…"

"Amelia," Oliver insisted, "We need to be going."

"Ok," I nodded, slipping his grip, "I'm still going to go say goodbye to Sebastian. I won't be long."

"Very well," he dropped it, "I'll be waiting outside."

After a quick kiss on his round, little cheek, I left Sebastian in the capable hands of my parents and headed home. Oliver had a point. I was exhausted and as soon as I hit the pillow, I had no doubt I'd be sleeping. When I went up to bed and put my pajamas on, Oliver sat with me on the edge of the bed. Who was I to tell him to go away? I could see it in his eyes. Something worried him.

"Are you alright, Amelia?" he asked, just as soft and gentle as ever.

"I'm exhausted," I crawled into bed, "But I think I'll be alright. Nothing a little sleep won't fix."

"Here," Oliver pulled my blankets over me a little better and handed me a small, round, white tablet, "Take this."

"What is it?" I gave him a skeptical look. I know he hasn't steered me wrong so far and I could probably trust him.

"It's only melatonin," he assured, "Just a little something, something to help you sleep."

"I don't think I'll need it," I held onto it, "I'm already wiped, but thank you."

"Yes," Oliver dropped it, kissing my forehead, "Good night, darling."

"Good night, Oliver," I left the tablet of melatonin on the nightstand on the off chance that I did need it someday. However, today will not be that day.

"Never again…" he mumbled on his way out, "Never again…"

What the hell was that all about? I wasn't sure, but something about it made me a tad queasy. Maybe he was talking about something else. Then again, I didn't even know what he was talking about in the first place. Still…I had a feeling there was more to Oliver than meets the eye. I do live with the man. It's nothing a few questions won't take care of. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to answer them for me.


	9. War Flashbacks

Waking up in this painfully comfortable bed would never get old. Marshmallow pillows, a down filled comforter (that if laid down properly can also double as a pillow), a soft Sherpa blanket. If I didn't know any better, I'd think Oliver wanted anyone who passed through this guest room to never leave. It sure as hell made it difficult to get out of bed. That's for sure. As nice as this was, I couldn't stay here forever. No matter how pretty of a picture it was.

I quickly pulled myself together in the attached bathroom (briefly giving serious consideration to trying something new with my wardrobe. However, the thought was fleeting.) and made my way downstairs. Much like every other morning I've spent here, I walked into the kitchen to Oliver bursting into song as if life were a damn Disney movie. I had a little time to kill before work. And turning down breakfast from Oliver felt like a mortal sin.

"Morning, Oliver," I took a seat at the kitchen island, snagging a cinnamon roll off the cooling rack dripping with cream cheese frosting.

"Good morning, darling," Oliver chimed with a smile on his face, "Did you sleep well last night?"

"For the most part," I nodded, tearing off a piece of cinnamon roll. Oh my god…Oliver Kirkland's baking could never hurt or disappoint me.

"That's good to hear," he went back to washing the dishes, "So, what are the plans for the day?"

"I need to get to work," I shoved another bite into my mouth, "More often than not, those are my plans for the day. And given that it's Monday…"

"What about after work?" Oliver wondered.

"I have class today," I could bury myself in this cinnamon roll and die happy. No question. The balance of sweet from the frosting and bitter from the cinnamon just…It put me in a good place, man.

"Aww…" he whined, "It feels like you're never home, Amelia. You could stand to stay here once in a while."

"I can't take off work," I pointed out, "And I'm almost done with the class. It's not the end of the world, Oliver. I'll be back by seven like every other night. I'm sure you'll be able to manage without me until then."

"I suppose you're right," Oliver sighed out, "Besides, I have a few things I need to finish up today anyway."

"And when I come back," I assured, "It'll just be you and me."

"I like the sound of that," the smile returned to his face, "Just the two of us."

"Now," I finished up my cinnamon roll, "If you'll excuse me, I need to be heading to the office."

"Seven o'clock?" Oliver asked.

"Seven o'clock," I nodded, giving him his confirmation.

"Right then," he sent me off, "Have a good day at work, Amelia."

"I will!" I waved behind me and started heading for the café. As much as I was starting to love staying at Oliver's house, the café would always be my home away from home. Something about the atmosphere always brought me back down to Earth. And as always, there'd be the captain of this beautiful vessel sitting at one of the tables, going over books to make sure we were ready to open.

"Morning, Amy," Helen ushered me in like every other morning. I know I complain about my monotony, but sometimes, monotony was a good thing for me.

"Morning, boss," I tied my apron on, "So? How are things?"

"Things are great," she reported, "Everything's in the black. I've been thinking about some new flavors to add to our tea list. Everything's coming up us."

"Beautiful," I applauded, "And if you're looking to bring on an outside consultant for those tea flavors, I think I know just the guy for the job. He's a little obsessive when it comes to his tea. He doesn't even trust buying it from the store. He says they can't get it just right to his specifications, so he grows his own."

"Good gravy, Amy," Helen gasped, "Where did you find this unicorn?"

"You've met him," I pointed out, "Kind of. He was in here when Reid was being an ass."

"A lot of people were in here while Reid was being an ass," she remembered, "That's one of the things that makes him Reid. He thrives on an audience. But who was that? Not the little British cutie…"

"The very same," I confirmed, "Or as I like to call him, Oliver. Or my new roommate."

"You think he'd be willing to consult for free?" Helen wondered.

"I don't know," I shrugged, "I'd have to ask him. But I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

"See if you can talk him into it," she ordered, "I'm going to go back to my office and get started on my new book of mad libs."

"And leave me to run the front by myself?"

"You're more than capable of it, sweetie," Helen assured, "I've seen you do it."

I popped my head in the back and saw our usual kitchen staff working hard. Yeah. I could do it. It's not like this café was very big. At any given time, we'd have four people working here. One would be Helen in her office (She wasn't always doing mad libs. More often than not, she'd be placing orders and making sure our heads were still above water.). One would be me making some kickass coffee. And the other two were in the back either cooking or baking. And we were one of the most popular places in town. Yep. Home sweet home. And it was time for our home to be open.

Ding!

And here comes the first customer of the day. Although, I knew this face. However, the stern, disinterested one towering behind him was new, "Morning, Allen."

"Morning, Amy," Allen leaned against the counter, fighting every urge he had in his body to not sit on it. And I thank him for it, "How are you this lovely morning?"

"I'm doing well," I giggled, "What about you?"

"Super," he reported, "I hope you don't mind if I brought a friend. Well…I say he's a friend. He's more like my little brother."

"Uh…" I looked between Allen and his not-so-little little brother, "How is he your little brother?"

"Because," Allen explained, "I was born first. Then, Matt was born. That's how we work. Therefore, he's my little brother."

"See?" he chuckled to himself, "Even she knows you're short."

"Shut up, Matt!" Allen pouted, "Nobody asked you! It's not my fault you're a fucking tree! Anyone's going to look short compared to you!"

"Allen, it's ok," I giggled with him, "I'm Amy."

"Matt," he introduced himself, "It's amazing…"

"What's that?" I wondered, hoping this guy wasn't going to start hitting on me. By the look in his eyes, he might…Despite being glazed over, there was a certain glint to them. An innocent charm. And I'm sure he worked it to his advantage.

"Doesn't she, Al?" Matt leaned over to his brother, "More than you do."

"Yeah," Allen nodded, "I see what you're saying."

"Alright then," I shook off their weird sidebar, "Allen, I know what you want. What can I get for you, Matt?"

"Black," Matt ordered, "And a couple maple glazed donuts."

"Got it," I punched in their orders, "And you _are _paying for it this time, Allen!"

"Fine," Allen had a dirty, shit eating grin on his face, "You caught that, huh?"

"You're not conning me out of it today," I assured, "I'm sharp as a tack this morning."

"Clearly," he pointed out, "What's got you in such high spirits?"

"What?" I teased, "Is it a crime to be in a good mood now?"

"No," Allen dropped it, "Just curious is all."

"Well," I began, "I got a good night's sleep last night. My roommate made me breakfast. All in all, life is good, man. I have no room to complain."

"I got you," he gave me a little nod.

"You got a sorority house full or something, Amy?" Matt asked.

"Nope," I shook my head, "It's just Oliver and me."

Both Matt and Allen froze, exchanging glances. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were nervous. Allen broke out into a cold sweat. Without thinking, Matt took his jacket off and draped it around his brother's shoulders, "Oliver, huh?"

"Yeah," I couldn't help but ask, "Why? Is there something wrong with that?"

"No reason," Allen pulled Matt's jacket a little tighter around him, "Just curious. And how are things with you and…him?"

"They're fine." Ok. Now, I'm getting skeptical.

"Nothing…" Matt gave me a look, "Odd? Or out of place? He doesn't seem like he's got a little screw loose?"

"No," I assured, "Not really. I mean, he's a little weird, but we all are deep down somewhere. Why? Should I be worried?"

"No," Matt shook his head, taking his and Allen's coffee off the counter, along with their bag of donuts, "Al, you alright?"

"Yeah," Allen let out a heavy sigh, getting a good drink from his coffee, "I'm good. But Amy, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," I nodded, "What's up?"

Allen jumped behind the counter and threw his arms around me as tight as he could, "Please…Be careful. Establish boundaries with your new roommate early."

"Ok," I reciprocated his sudden hug, "Allen, are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he brushed me off, vaulting the counter again, "I should be anyway. I'll see you in class tonight, right?"

"Of course," I promised, "I'll see you tonight. And it was nice meeting you, Matt."

"You, too, Amy," Matt gave me a wave and brought his brother outside. That was weird, right? Like…It's not just me thinking that? Did Matt and Allen know Oliver? I'd ask Allen about it some more, but by the looks of it, it sends him into war flashbacks. And I don't want to do that to him. Despite all that happened, something had just dawned on me.

SON OF A BITCH, HE DID IT AGAIN! ALLEN JONES, WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A PROBLEM!

Honestly, I could let him have that one, too. I dropped a ten into the register, covering for both Allen and Matt, and fumed a little. I really should be more vigilant with that. When I go to class tonight, I'll shake him down for money. Or open up a tab. That'd probably be better. After that display, I don't think a shakedown would be a good idea. Not for Allen. Granted, he seemed like he could handle it, but like I said. After seeing his reaction to Oliver being my roommate, he doesn't need the added stress. Maybe he just has a bad experience with someone named Oliver. There's no telling if it's specifically _my _Oliver.

As I went about my day, time had gone by quicker than I anticipated. Soon enough, it was time for me to clock out. It wasn't exactly closing time yet, but it certainly was the end of my shift. My feet were killing me and my lower back was on fire. Just a little time to sit down would do me wonders, but unfortunately, I still needed to make my usual walk home. I'd manage, though. It's just a couple blocks. I said my goodbyes to Helen and headed out.

When I got back to Oliver's house, I sought refuge on the stairs. Home sweet home. All the pressure fell from my body and the planets were in perfect alignment. I managed to push myself back onto my feet when I heard footsteps moving around upstairs, "Oliver, I'm home!"

"Hello, darling," Oliver skipped down the stairs with a basket of laundry in his arms, "Are you alright? You seem tired."

"I'm a little tired," I admitted, "But nothing I can't push through."

"That's not good for you, Amelia," he scolded me, "When your tired, that's your body's way of telling you to slow down because it can't keep up."

"I'll be fine," I brushed him off, "I did get to see a friend of mine at work this morning, though, so I can't say work was too strenuous."

"That's nice," Oliver put the laundry basket down on the couch in the living room and helped me up, "Why don't you go lie down before class? I'm sure that'll make you feel better."

"I'll be fine," I figured, "I'll catch a second wind somewhere."

"Amelia…" he insisted, "Please. For your own sake."

"I'll be ok, Oliver," I took his hand, "I promise. I've ran on second winds before."

"Amelia, please," Oliver begged, "Why not lie down for just a little while? That way, you can perform at your best while you're in class."

"Well…" I thought it over. He had a point. If I'm nodding off in class, my perfect notes will suffer. My professor will bitch at me. I'll come home pissed off. There was a way of preventing that chain reaction, "I guess a little nap won't kill me."

"Thank you," he led me upstairs into the guest room, "I do have your best interests at heart, darling. Don't ever forget that."

"Alright," I grabbed my phone and set an alarm, "Five-thirty. Not a minute later."

"Not a minute later," Oliver repeated, "Rest well, Amelia."

He covered me up and turned the lights off on his way out. I'm sure a half hour nap will do it. As long as I don't get the feeling of being hit by a freight train when I wake up, I'll be perfectly fine. I shut my eyes for just a moment. But then, I slipped into a state of sweet serenity. Nighty-night, Amy. Enjoy your half hour nap.


	10. Treating You

Wow…When I woke up from that nap, I didn't feel like I got hit by a bus. I actually felt kind of well rested. My phone wasn't beeping. Did I do something silly like wake up before my alarm went off? I grabbed it off the nightstand and looked at the clock. SHIT! CLASS IS ALREADY OVER! I SLEPT THROUGH CLASS. Ironic, isn't it? I take a nap before class so I wouldn't sleep through class, yet I end up sleeping through class anyway. Just in a more comfortable location. Shit…What do I do? Should I call my professor? Should I email him and ask him for the class notes for the day? No. My professor's not that cool about it. I'm fucked here. Awesome. Just awesome.

"Amelia?" Oliver came by my room while I was in mid panic, "Is everything alright, darling?"

"I slept through my class," I freaked. Where the hell did I put my shoes? Maybe I can catch him before he leaves for the day, "And my notes were all perfect. I need this class, so I can finally graduate."

"Amelia," he stopped me, "It's alright. You were exhausted and it showed. The rest is good for you. If you're not careful, you're going to work yourself into the ground and you don't deserve that."

"I don't know," I found my shoes under the bedroom chair and slipped them on, "I'm going to try and catch him before he leaves."

"I'm sure you can just email him," Oliver suggested, "If not, you can just ask him for the notes the next time you're in class. It's going to be ok, Amelia. You don't need to work yourself up over nothing. I understand this class is important to you, but it doesn't need to cause you this much stress."

"Well…" Oliver did make a point. I could probably email my professor and I'm just overreacting. If not, I could always ask Allen for his…What am I saying? Allen didn't take notes. He's lucky if he doesn't sleep through class. But maybe he noticed I wasn't in class and was a good person and took notes for me. However, I knew deep in my heart of hearts that was wishful thinking. I'm not doubting you, Allen, but I'm paying attention to patterns, "I suppose you're right. I'm just a little wound up."

"Tell you what," he decided, "How about you and I go downstairs and go have some dinner? Once you eat something, you'll calm down and feel better."

"Ok," I nodded, taking his hand, "What did you make?"

"Shepherd's pie," Oliver and I walked downstairs and into the dining room, "I tried not to be excessive tonight."

And it looked phenomenal. Then again, Oliver's cooking could never ever disappoint me, "It's weird. I've eaten better in the last week than I have in the last month."

"It's a good thing you got here when you did then," he pointed out, "Who knows what would've happened if I hadn't found you in the park that night?"

"I don't know," I shrugged it off, "I'd probably be back at my parents' house for the time being. Working twice as hard to earn a little extra cash, so I could get out of there quicker."

"I see," Oliver stared down at his plate, a blank expression on his face. Slowly, but surely, something strange came over him. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was pissed, "And is it often that you make such poor life choices?"

"Excuse me?" Oh, yeah. I wasn't sure why or what brought it on, but Oliver was genuinely pissed off. And I think it might have been at me.

"Look at it, Amelia," he explained, "Your poor eating habits, your caffeine dependency, your alcoholic ex-boyfriend, the fact that you're overworking yourself…"

"Alright, alright," I stopped him before he could truly go off on a tangent, "I get it. Me living here is the best thing that could've happened at the current juncture."

"I wasn't going to say it," Oliver started to calm down a little, "But I couldn't agree more."

"And maybe…" I thought it over, "Maybe me moving in on a little more permanent basis would be a good idea."

"You know I'd be happy to have you, Amelia," he allowed, "You're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you'd like."

"Well," I bit my lip, "I'll think about it."

I did like living here. Like I told Oliver, things have been much better for me since I moved in here. I've been taking a little better care of myself. The world has opened up. The sun shined a bit brighter these days. Mostly because I lived with an actual ball of sunshine. It's like a Disney movie manifested into a real person. Maybe that kind of energy would be a good thing to have around all the time. At least until life takes me in a different direction. This might not be so bad for a while.

"Alright," Oliver gave me a nod, "Let me know soon, ok? Because I've loved nothing more than having you here, poppet. I enjoy our time together."

"Me, too," I hid a little smile, cleaning the last of the mashed potatoes off my plate.

"Amelia…" a little glint shined in his eye, "Could I make a suggestion?"

"Sure," I allowed, "What's on your mind?"

"I'm going to clear the table first," Oliver stood up, "When I come back in here, I'll show you."

"Ok," I knew better than to even ask if he wanted any help. Despite me suggesting that I move in, I have no doubt in my mind that I'd always be considered a guest in this house. At the end of the day, this was still Oliver's house. And I would always be a guest in Oliver's house. Even if I was officially living here. The one time I tried helping with the dishes, Oliver just yelled at me. Oh, well. It's fine. If he didn't want me doing dishes, then who am I to tell him no?

As soon as the leftovers were taken care of and the table was spotless, Oliver brought me upstairs into his bedroom. I had never been in here before. Four doors. Let's see…The closet. The bathroom. The entrance to the bedroom. And…I wasn't sure what the other door could be. Another closet, maybe? What else would it possibly be? Although, I didn't even know why he'd be bringing me this way in the first place. Dare I ask?

"Oliver?" I wondered, "What are we doing in here?"

"You'll see," Oliver brought me toward his bathroom. And there wasn't a speck of color in this bathroom. Everything was completely white. The walls, the fixtures, the shower…And then…The big ass bathtub surrounded in white marble. Mother of god. It was beautiful, "This was what I wanted to show you."

"It's absolutely gorgeous," I swooned, sitting at the edge of his bathtub, "But why are we in here?"

"Because," he explained himself, "You've had a long day, Amelia. You came home from work today completely drained. That's why I didn't wake you up this afternoon before class. I'm sorry I made that decision for you, but if we remember from dinner…"

"I know," I stopped him, "I make horrible life decisions. And I do appreciate the nap."

"You're more than welcome to use my bathtub if you'd like," Oliver offered, "In fact, I insist upon it."

"Absolutely," I'd have to be an idiot to say no to something like this, "Do you think I could go get some pajamas first?"

"Don't worry about it," he brushed me off, "I got it. Go ahead and start the water. I'll be right back."

"Ok," I waited until Oliver left the room before I ran the bathtub. Was karma finally throwing me a bone? Was this what I got for dealing with Reid all those years? And not just Reid, but my parents, too? This was nice. I don't know what I did to deserve something like this, but at this point, I didn't care. I stripped off my clothes and sunk into the warm water, finding a state of pure bliss where I could stretch out every limb comfortably. Oh, yeah. This was nice. This was very nice. If I'm not careful, I may go back to sleep.

"Amelia?" Oliver spoke softly on the other side of the bathroom door, "Could I come in?"

"Sure," I allowed, "I'm not shy."

"Thank you," he came in with an armful, "I've brought you pajamas and a fresh towel."

"Thank you, Oliver," I smiled a little, "Really. You didn't have to do this."

"It's my pleasure," Oliver sat at the edge, making sure to maintain his eye contact, "Would you care for some bath salts?"

"No, thank you," I turned him down, "I don't really need it."

"Here," he leaned over to a small wire shelf at the end of the bathtub, getting a container of light pink bath salts, dropping a spoonful into the water. Looks like that wasn't a yes or no question, "Trust me. They're nice to have."

"Ok…" Like I said, I don't think I had much of a choice in the matter to begin with. Not that I'm really complaining. They smelled like cherry blossoms.

"Do you need anything else?" Oliver asked, "Anything at all?"

"No," I put my foot down, "I'm good. Thank you. You spoil me, Oliver."

"Not nearly enough," he cradled my face in the palm of his hand, "Not as much as you should be spoiled anyway. I'm going to leave you alone for a while. When you get out and get dressed, come find me."

"For what?" I wondered.

A little smirk crept across Oliver's face, "It's a secret."

Oliver was definitely one of the weirder roommates I've ever had. And I found out later that my first roommate ever was selling pot out of our apartment with her boyfriend at the time. He lived with us for a while. Until I found out he was a salesman, too. Only he was selling meth instead of pot like she was. I hope those two are still together. And found a rehab. Or aren't in jail. If Oliver knew I had such colorful roommates, he'd probably flip his fucking lid again. But by the sounds of things, he's only looking out for me. And after the debacle with Reid, it's a much-welcomed change of pace. I'll keep him.

I shut my eyes for a brief moment, taking my surroundings in. My warm bathwater on my skin, putting every single muscle in my body at ease. The gentle floral smell in my nose bringing me to a peaceful happy place. The ache in my head slowly but surely slipping away with the rest of the stress in my life. And somewhere in this house, a roommate that genuinely cared about me. Maybe me moving in here won't be so bad. Especially if it meant I had regular access to Oliver's bathtub. This was alright for the time being.

When I got out of the bathtub, I wrapped myself in a soft, warm, overly fluffy towel and watched as the water and my stress got sucked down the drain. It's strange. The set of white and pink striped pajamas didn't look familiar. I don't remember having any matching pajamas in my closet. Most of my pajamas were just men's pajama bottoms and t-shirts I stole from Reid that looked like they had gone through a woodchipper. Those were usually the best. When the hell did I get these? No matter, I pulled the pants up and ran my fingers up the row of buttons on the front. Either way, they're comfortable as shit. Wherever I got them from, I needed more of them in my life.

That bath did more wonders for me than I thought it did. My legs felt like pudding and my eyes wanted to close for a while. Maybe I should just say fuck it and go to bed. But then again, Oliver said he wanted me for something else before I did that. Where could he have scurried off to? He did say to come find him after I got out of the bathtub. Here I was, clean as a whistle and tired as balls. Maybe he went downstairs. However, before I had gone downstairs on my great, grand search for my roommate, I found him in what I'm guessing was the study. For as long as what I've lived here, I really haven't had the change to explore much.

"Oliver?" I poked my head in the door where he had been writing something down in a leather journal, "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Of course not, darling," Oliver assured, closing the book, "How was the bath?"

"Perfect," I swooned, "I can't thank you enough."

"Oh, hush now," he settled me, "You're very welcome. You deserved it, Amelia. It's time you start seeing that."

"You said you had a secret you were going to tell me," I reminded him, "after I got out of the bathtub."

"I'm glad you listened to me," Oliver applauded, "You did exactly as I asked."

"Here I am," I pointed out, "In the doorway. As much as I'd love for us to get into more shenanigans, I think I'm going to bed."

"That's perfect," he perked up, "Because I was just about to ask you to go lie down on your bed. I'll be in there in a moment. There's just one thing I need to get first."

"What's that?" I wondered.

"You'll see," Oliver followed me to the guest room (or what I'm assuming is going to become my bedroom if I do move in here) only to pass it altogether. Huh…Where could you be running off to, Oliver? Well, he did ask nicely for me to get into bed. Who was I to say no? Besides, I was tired as hell and I wanted to go to bed anyway. When he walked back in, Oliver had a white tube of something in his hand.

"What'd you bring with you, Oliver?" I asked, a tad confused.

"You have such pretty, porcelain skin, Amelia," he sat down next to me, "You really should take better care of it. But as we said before, that's what you have me for."

"Oliver," I tried stopping him, but I don't think that's going to happen, "You don't need to…"

"Shh…" Oliver popped the top on his bottle, already putting the cream on my face. I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel kind of nice. And it smelled like strawberries, "Shut your eyes, darling. You can go to sleep now if you'd like."

If Oliver wanted to take care of me, I didn't have much for the energy to stop him. Everything was good. So, I shut my eyes, my head on his lap, "Ok…"

"Good night, Amelia," Oliver spoke gently, "Rest well, darling."


	11. Just One

I woke up the next morning feeling oddly refreshed. Whatever Oliver put on my face last night is its own miracle and I'm going to need the name of it if and when I ever leave. Although, when I looked over at my phone, I realized I still need to go to work. That's ok, though. At least I liked my job. I got out of bed and pulled myself together like any other morning. And like every other morning, I skipped downstairs, damn near on the verge of running late.

"Good morning, Amelia," Oliver got two plates down from the cabinet.

"Morning, Oliver," I grabbed my bag off the barstool, "As much as I'd love to stick around, I need to get going before I'm late."

"So," he froze for a moment or two, "Does that mean we won't be having breakfast together?"

"Sorry," I slipped my shoes on, "I really have to go."

"Please, Amelia," Oliver begged, sliding one of the pastry baskets toward me, "At least take something with you. You shouldn't skip meals, period, let alone breakfast."

"Fine." Oliver's baking had quickly become a weakness. And if it makes him happy, why not? I settled on a muffin of unknown flavor. By the looks of it, it has almonds in it. Neat, "I'll see you after work."

"Have a good day, poppet!" Olivre sat at the bar by himself while I took off like a bat out of hell toward the café. I'm not going to be late. I'm not going to be late. By the time I got there, I thought my lung was going to collapse. But the important thing was that I got there on time.

"Morning…Helen…" I doubled over a chair, possibly seeing a white light. And my grandma…but Grandma…You died when I was two. What would you be doing here?

"Jesus Christ, Ames," Helen gasped, "Sit down before you pass out."

"Ok," I wasn't going to fight her. I just got here and I was already exhausted. Not that I didn't know why.

"Did you run all the way here?" she worried, getting me a cold green tea.

"I might have," I sighed out, finally getting the chance to find out what my muffin tasted like, "I'm just a little winded."

"A little?" Helen put my tea in front of me, "You need to invest in a vehicle, sweetie."

"I don't need one," I finally caught my breath, "Everything is in walking distance from my house. Even from my new house. If I go out of town, I'm usually with someone or I take the train. No worries."

"If you say so." She's just looking out for me. Helen always did. I loved her for it, but I had it handled, "Finish your tea and get to work, ok?"

"Got it, boss," I slurped down the rest of my tea and ate my cherry almond muffin and jumped behind the counter. Things were nicely in order. All of the café's ducks were in a row. I was ready to start the day.

Ding!

Normally, our first customer of the day was older than dirt and more bitter than the espresso. I didn't expect someone so young. He looked at me with great relief, "Amy…"

"Hi, Allen," I smiled sweetly like every other day he came here, "Let me guess. Your usu…"

With incredible grace, Allen vaulted the counter and threw his arms around me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was trying to break me in half, "I'm so happy to see you."

"Could've fooled me," I joked, "Allen, are you ok?"

"You said you'd be in class yesterday," he growled, the lightness in the room quickly fading away, "But you weren't. Where the fuck were you?"

"Easy there, Speed Racer," I settled him, trying not to throw a right hook into his jaw after that, "I took a nap after work and slept through my alarm. Excuse the fuck out of me for being human once in a while. Next time, I'll be sure to run it by you."

"I'm sorry," Allen calmed down, cradling me against his chest, "I'm just glad to see you're ok."

"Of course I am," I promised, 'I'm alright, Allen. See? I'm all here. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Nothing out of place."

"Good," he wasn't letting me go, "Good, good, good."

"Allen," I wondered, hoping he'd answer me this time, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," Allen brushed me off, still not letting me go, "I'm fine. Why?"

"Because," I pointed out, "You act like I'm going to float away here. Seriously, dude. What has you so nervous?"

"I was hoping we'd never have to have this conversation," he let out a heavy sigh, taking a seat at the table across from the register. He's lucky we weren't too busy yet, "It's you. Specifically, your roommate."

"Seriously?" I gave him a look, "Oliver? Oliver's the one that has you freaked like this?"

"There's a lot you don't know about him, Amy," Allen stood his ground.

I'm sure there wasn't. But I still believe what I've seen. Oliver and I have gotten along famously since the day we met. I don't know what Allen's problem was with Oliver. I don't even know if it's the same Oliver. I could stand to hear him out, though, "Allen, he's fine. I've had worse roommates than Oliver. We've never had a problem."

"You seem to think so," he scoffed, "You know what, Amy? You think Oliver's such a saint?"

"I never said he was a saint," I clarified, "But he's been nothing but good to me."

"That's the scary part," Allen wasn't making much for sense. And going by the vein sticking out of his forehead, he's not expecting this much resistance, "You need to meet Francois. You need to meet Francois so bad. If anyone can tell you about Oliver, it's Francois."

"I still have a job to do, Allen," I pushed him along, "Did you want anything?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "You know my usual order."

"Figured," I reached into the pastry case and got his usual donuts, so he had something to hold him over while I made his latte.

"Amy…"

"What?" I was a little bitter with him right now. I hated him shitting on Oliver for no reason. He didn't deserve that.

"Go on a date with me." Holy fuck, was that out of left field.

"Excuse me?" I gasped, not expecting his sudden boldness.

"Just one date," Allen explained, "Just you and me."

"No," I shot him down immediately. After everything that's happened since he walked in here, the fact that he still had the audacity to ask me on a date _while I'm at work _was beyond ridiculous.

"Tell you what," he bargained, "If I can tell you everything that happened to you last night to the letter, you'll go on a date with me."

There's no way in hell he knows what I did last night. Aside from my nap after work. I've already shot him down once. Why not he let his hubris do the work for me this time? "Alright, Allen. What happened last night?"

"When you woke up from your nap," Allen began, "You realized you missed class."

"That's right," I nodded. We've already been over that.

"And I'm sure Oliver woke you up," he figured, "Am I right there, too?"

"No," I shook my head, "I woke up on my own. That's how I found out I missed class in the first place."

"Alright," Allen bowed out, "I'll take a mulligan on that one."

"You said to the letter," I reminded him, "That never happened."

"Let me finish," he went on, "When you woke up, you tried getting your notes. Because I've seen your notebook. I've never seen something so fucking organized in the history of mankind. That's just you."

"Yeah…"

"And you got super pissed because you slept through your alarm," Allen jabbed his finger in my shoulder, "But Oliver said you didn't need to go out to get your notes. Am I right?"

"Ok," I let it go, "So, you're getting some stuff right. But he also said I could email our professor, too."

"I'm not done," he cut me off, "Not only did he say you couldn't go get your notes for the day, but that you didn't need to."

"I'm starting to think you're stalking me, Allen," I brought him his latte.

"Not stalking," Allen assured, "Patterns. But after that, Oliver made you dinner, if he didn't already have it done. And I'm sure it was something unnecessarily extravagant."

"Shepherd's pie…" And it was good as hell, too.

"After dinner," he went on, "He probably showed you his bathtub, didn't he?"

Ok…This was getting a little unsettling, "And you're sure you're not stalking me?"

"No," Allen shook his head, "I'm not stalking you. But did he give you a bath or did he let you do that on your own?"

"I was by myself." For the most part.

"Then," he assumed, "When you went to bed, he tucked you in…Probably put some kind of peach smelling shit on your face."

"No," I don't like how accurate this was getting.

"Strawberry?"

Fuck, "Go on."

"Don't you usually wear earrings, Amy?" Allen cupped my ear in his hand, "I bet Oliver took your piercings out for you, too."

Wait…I felt one of my ears, not feeling the usual two stones in it, "How do you…"

"I know Oliver, Amy," he backed off a little, "I know what he's like and I know how he works. So, how did I do?"

"What?" I grumbled, "You couldn't figure that one out? You managed to tell me how my night went. You can't even read my face?"

Allen took my hand, "Please. One date. That's all I ask."

"Well…" We did make a deal, "Fine. One date."

"Tonight," he decided, "Seven o'clock. Is that good for you?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "We'll meet in front of the café and go from there."

"Ok," Allen agreed, "But don't tell Oliver you're going on a date with me. If he asks, you're going to a study group after class. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"Alright," I hated how accurate he was. It got me thinking, though. What else would he be right about? If Allen knows Oliver's nighttime routine, what more could he possibly know?

"Good," he got up from the table, "I'll see you tonight."

"Wait a second!" I stopped him, "Before your ass leaves this café, you are not getting out of here without paying again."

"Fine, fine," Allen got his wallet out of his pocket and gave me exactly six dollars, "There. Happy?"

"I'm not throwing freebies your way anymore," I put my foot down, "You're done scamming me for free shit."

"Alright, Amy," he chuckled a bit, "I got it. No more free shit. You're no fun."

"And you're a fucking con artist," I scolded him.

"Alright," Allen wrapped his arms around me, "I'll see you tonight, Amy."

"See you tonight," I let him go and jumped back behind the register. Although, in a surprising twist of events, Allen was enough for Helen to come out of her office.

"Hey, Amy," Helen wondered, watching Allen walk out the door, "Who's your friend?"

"That's Allen," I told her, "He's the one that's scammed me out of a few lattes, but he's a friend of mine."

"Really?" she smirked, "You're popular, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"How many guys do you have on the hook, Amy?" Helen teased, "He's been in here on a more regular basis for the last week or so. But then, he came in here with a friend…"

"His brother," I corrected her.

"And then!" she added, "There was the little British cutie that you're now living with…"

"I don't have any of them on the hook!" I squeaked, "Honestly, Helen. I'm not a hussy. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"I'm not saying you're a hussy, sweetheart," Helen threw her hands up, "But since you've left Reid? It's done wonders for your dating life. It's the best thing you could've done."

"I know." For mor reasons than one. It's been a while since I even gave Reid a thought. I hope he's doing ok. Although, something bigger burned in my brain. I'd be going on my first date since Reid and I split up. And it's with the pain in the ass from my world history class turned stalker from work. But don't tell Oliver, huh? Why? Because he'll try to stop me? I'm a big girl. If I want to go out, I'm going to go out. If I want to come back trashed at three in the morning, I will. Not that I'm going to do that. I have some self-control. But I couldn't help but wonder…What would a date with Allen Jones be like?


	12. This Old House

I wasn't quite sure what happened at work today. All I could think about was my date with Allen tonight. That I agreed to. Willingly. And all because he could accurately tell me about last night. Which still weirded the fuck out of me. Maybe I should ask Oliver about Allen first. Although, given that Allen told me not to tell Oliver about our date in the first place, that probably wouldn't be a good idea.

Before we could even go on this date, we had to get through class. This time, I came home with a couple shots of espresso under my belt, so I didn't need the nap. I'd be perfectly fine. However, my top priority would be my notes from yesterday. Sure, I had a date after class, but that didn't mean I would let my education suffer. Stick with what you know, Amy. Oliver has been nothing but good to you. Don't let Allen's paranoia get to you.

"Oliver," I walked in the front door like it was any other day, "I'm home!"

"Hello, darling," Oliver came out of his bedroom and took a seat on the top step, "How was work?"

"It was ok." With the exception of Allen's predictions.

"Ok?" he wondered, "Is everything alright, Amelia? Do you need to talk?"

"No," I shook my head, "Everything's fine. It's work. Work is work. Not every day can be filled with fun and excitement. Today, work just came and went."

"Ok," Oliver let it go, "So, are you going to need a little nap?"

"No," I assured, running upstairs, "I'm good."

"Are you sure?" he got up from his spot, "You could always set an alarm. A louder one this time perhaps?"

"I'm fine," I threw my bag down on the bed and took a quick look through my closet. That's weird. I could've sworn I had less pastel in my wardrobe. Dare I ask? Safer if I didn't. But I had something missing. I had all intentions of wearing it tonight, even if I wasn't going out with Allen. And if I don't find it, heads are going to roll.

"Is everything alright, love?" Oliver stuck his head in my bedroom, "Are you looking for something?"

"Yeah," I dug deeper in the closet. Maybe I just haven't unpacked it yet, "It's a white t-shirt with a group of nuns on it. They're all smiling, holding guns. There's a big R on the back."

"I know exactly which one you're talking about," Oliver nodded.

"You do?" I perked up, "Where is it?"

"I was doing some of your laundry," he explained, "I found that shirt and, well, it was so discolored and it was falling apart, so I threw it away."

"You what?!" I screeched, my heart sinking to my feet, "Oliver, that was vintage! I had to fight a guy on eBay for an hour and a half for that shirt!"

"It's alright, Amelia," Oliver tried to settle me, but my level of irate had surpassed all logic, "Quite frankly, it was rather tasteless anyway. What does rage against the machine even mean anyway?"

"It means to challenge and question a corrupt system," I snapped, "And you threw away my vintage Rage t-shirt, you asshole!"

"Amelia!" he gasped, clutching his chest, "You are putting a dollar in the swear jar, young lady!"

"You threw away my vintage Rage Against the Machine t-shirt," I growled, grabbing something else. I wasn't even sure if it went together, but it didn't matter, "Forgive me if I'm a little pissed."

"Two dollars," Oliver demanded, "We can discuss this more over dinner this evening."

"I'm not going to be home for dinner," I told him, "I have a study group tonight."

"A study group?" he froze, "Why wouldn't you be home for dinner?"

"Because," I needed to calm down. If I get pissed off again, other than accumulating a massive debt to the swear jar, I may let certain things slip that don't need to slip, "Our study group can run a little late, depending on how well we grasp the material."

"So…" Oliver wondered, "How late will you be?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, "sitting next to him on the bed, "Probably around ten, at the very latest."

"Oh…" he didn't know what to say. Although, I don't think he liked me having a booming social life. Even if it was just a study group, "Alright then. Just me tonight, is it?"

"I'll be back by ten," I promised, laying on Oliver's shoulder, "I'm sorry for blowing up like that."

"Thank you, poppet," Oliver wrapped his arm around me, "I'm sorry for throwing away your shirt without consulting you first. I didn't think it'd have that much sentimentality for you. What do you say? Let bygones be bygones?"

"I guess," I allowed, still seething inside, "Oliver?"

"Yes, Amelia?"

"I'd like to go take a shower now," I got up from the bed, "If that's alright with you."

"Fine by me," he let me go, "Go on. I wouldn't want you to be late for class. However, about this study group…"

Shit…Relax, Amy. It's not like he's going to ask too many questions. He understands how important my education is to me, "What about it?"

"They're not…" Oliver hoped, "They're not bad influences, are they? I'd hate for you to fall into a bad crowd."

I wanted to mess with him a little. Tell him that my study group was comprised of a drug dealer, a pothead, a pyro, an alcoholic, and a serial kleptomaniac. Just enough to claim my vengeance for my Rage t-shirt. But it felt like I was already on thin ice with him. Pissing him off any more wouldn't be a good idea, "No. They're just a few people from my class. It's ok."

"Fine," he stood outside my bathroom door while I turned the shower on, "If it's alright with you, I'd like to meet them."

Oh, shit. This isn't good, "It's fine, Oliver. Really. I appreciate that you're worried about me, but I can handle it. It's not like they're going to take me off to some undisclosed location and hold me for ransom. They're actually good people. Pinky promise."

"Alright," Oliver let out a heavy sigh of relief, "That's good to hear. Where is your study group going to take place?"

"I'm not sure," I played the middle road with him, "We haven't decided that yet. Maybe the library. Maybe the café, if I can get the keys from Helen. I'm sure she wouldn't have a problem with that. As long as we cleaned up the mess after we were done. Maybe somewhere else. I don't know. I'm guessing we're throwing caution to the wind."

"Call me when you do figure it out," he begged, "I don't want to be sitting in this big house all by myself pacing the floor, wondering if you're ok. That's when bad things happen."

"Well," I finished my shower and threw on whatever it was I grabbed. I didn't intend on wearing a dress tonight, but I didn't have the time to pick something else. Besides, pink was a good color on me. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and slightly fixed my hair. In a perfect world, I would've just put it up, but I couldn't find a ponytail holder to save my life and I'll be damned if I run late, "I'll see what I can do. You don't need to worry about me, Oliver. I can manage. If all else fails, I'll shoot you a text. Just to give you some peace of mind."

"Thank you, darling," Oliver unclenched a little more, "Don't forget to get your notes from yesterday."

"Thank you," I walked out of the bathroom, completely pulled together, "I'll be home around ten. You don't need to wait up for me, though."

"I won't be able to sleep anyway," he brushed me off, holding me tight, "Please, Amelia. Be careful tonight."

"Ok," I wiggled out of his embrace, grabbing my bag on the way out. Again, I believe in what I see. As far as I could tell, Oliver just wanted me to be safe. I couldn't fault him for that. However, it still pissed me off about my Rage t-shirt. It had been one of my favorites since I bought it. When I got my first paycheck from the café, it was the first thing I bought. I sat at my laptop with my debit card and outbid some asshole for an hour and a half who was likely nostalgic for the days of his youth. Me, on the other hand? I liked vintage t-shirts and I loved Rage Against the Machine. That shirt looked really good with a pair of light washed skinny jeans and a pair of black Vans. But I digress.

I left home and started heading for school. As long as I don't have a lost puppy following me, I think I'll be fine. When I got there, I took my normal seat in the middle of the room and waited for a certain classmate to come walking in, smelling like motor oil, leather, and cigarette smoke. Not that I was complaining. I kind of liked it. However, while I was waiting, I figured I'd take care of the important things first.

"Excuse me, Professor," I walked up to his desk, "Do you think I could get the notes from yesterday?"

"Why weren't you here, Miss Williams?" he asked.

"Well," I winced a bit, "I had a long day at work yesterday and I kind of passed out as soon as I got home and I might have overslept and missed my alarm. I didn't mean to."

"I'm sorry," he shot me down, "If you needed them so bad, you should've been here. If you're so desperate for sleep, readjust your schedule at night and sleep when the rest of us are."

I knew my professor could occasionally be a prick, but I thought we were on good terms. I've done nothing but listen diligently in his class since the beginning of the semester. I usually do well on exams. Yet, I have one little slip up because I was fucking exhausted beyond belief and suddenly, I'm blacklisted? Before I racked up more debt to the swear jar (and possibly assault charges), I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"It's cool, Amy. You can borrow my notes. No worries."

And just like that, a wave of relief crashed over me. Along with a little bit of surprise, "Thank you, Allen."

"Go sit down, Miss Williams," our professor ordered, "And you, too, Mr. Jones."

"Aye, aye, Cap," Allen gave him a half hearted salute and the two of us sat down.

However, Allen had me curious, "Did you actually take notes in class yesterday?"

Sure enough, Allen flopped a spiral notebook onto my desk, "Detailed. Organized. To the letter. You'd be proud of me, Amy."

And I was. I was damn proud of him. As I thumbed through his notebook, I sat back in absolute awe that these were Allen's notes. It shocked the hell out of me that he even took them in the first place. But for them to be like this? They were color coded, in sequential order, and written neatly enough to where I could read them.

"Allen…" I gasped, "These are incredible! And you did all of these?"

"You weren't here," Allen shrugged, "I needed something to keep my mind off what could've been, so I thought, why not pay attention in class for a change? Besides, I had a feeling that if someone threw off your notes, you'd be fucking livid, so someone had to take them for you."

Without another thought, I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight, "Thank you. This…I couldn't have asked for better."

"You're welcome," he hid a little smile from me. However, that smile didn't last long, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I allowed, "What's on your mind?"

"Did you tell Oliver?" Allen stared down at his desk, "Did you tell him you were going…?"

"To study group after class?" I picked his chin up, "I did. He wasn't too keen on the idea, but he understood."

"Good," he relaxed, "Because you need to meet Francois tonight."

"So I've heard," I remember him saying the same thing at the café this morning.

"Tonight's going to be a lot for you, Amy," Allen held my hand, "Are you sure you still want to go through with it?"

"Now, you're giving me the option?" I teased, trying to make light of the situation. Anything to keep him from freaking out on me.

"I just hope you're prepared for it," he brushed me off, "That's all."

"I think I'll be able to handle it," I could see a little similarity between Allen and Oliver. They both just wanted what was best for me, "Can I make one little request first?"

"Go ahead."

"Sex is off the table," I put my foot down, "I'm sorry to get your hopes up, but I don't put out on the first date."

"That's good to know," Allen giggled a little, "Me, too. Let's just say sex is off the table for us altogether. First date, four millionth date. You're not my type."

"Ouch," I clutched my chest, "Hurtful, Allen. What's so bad about sleeping with me?"

"Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy," he awed, "It's nothing personal against you. It's just that I'm as gay as the day is long. When I say you're not my type, you're _really _not my type. Trust me. Sex isn't happening between us."

"Oh…" Well, now, I just felt silly, "Sorry. I didn't know…"

"Already water under the bridge," Allen let it go, "Don't worry about it. But after class, it's going to be you and me, got it?"

"Got it," I nodded, taking his notebook from him, "And really…Thank you for this."

"It's the only time I've ever taken notes in this class," he kicked his feet up on his desk, making himself comfortable, "Tedious bullshit. Why do you do it?"

"Because," I explained, copying them down, "It's how I do so well in this class. Maybe we really should have that study group. Even if it's just the two of us. It'll keep your brother from throwing firecrackers at your feet."

"He means well," Allen shut his eyes for a moment or two, "Wake me when class is over."

That boy worries me. If I was never in this class, he'd actually take notes better than mine. And just for the sake of keeping mine up. Allen really did have my best interests at heart. And it's nice that he's not expecting me to put out. When Reid and I went on our first date, he brought me back to his place at the time. After I got out of the bathroom, he was already naked, waiting for me to do the same. I'm not that easy. Not anymore anyway. I had a slutty phase before I met Reid and I think he figured that, because of my reputation of who I once was, I'd be easy pickings. Not anymore. And still to this day, I'm not that girl anymore.

After class, I gave Allen a little nudge on his steel toe and woke him up just as he asked. Granted, the professor didn't like that his star student was hanging out with his number one delinquent, but I liked Allen. I could see the two of us becoming good friends. If we weren't already. I mean, he was trying to protect me from my roommate. If that's even necessary. The question was why. He could want me all to himself. Or he might be bringing me to whoever this Francois person was, so he could sell me into some human trafficking ring. That'd be fucked up. But Allen didn't strike me as the human trafficking type.

"Wait here," Allen stopped me on the stairs on our way out, "I'll go get the car."

"Ok," I sat on the railing and waited. Should I text Oliver and let him know I'm ok? He seemed like the type that would appreciate a call more than a text, but that would risk him hearing Allen on my end. I'll just shoot him a text.

_Just got out of class._

_Probably going to the library._

_Be home in a few hours._

_-A_

That should be enough to pacify him. For a while anyway. At least I hoped so.

Beep!

_I'll be here._

_Please be careful, Amelia._

_-O_

I still didn't know how long Allen would have me out. But I could always tell him to fuck off anytime and go home on my own. But then, he pulled up in a beautiful, bright red, late sixties model Mustang with the top down…And in all honesty, I might have drooled just a little bit. Classic cars could be a weakness for me once in a while. Now would be one of those instances.

"Get in, Amy," Allen called to me.

"Holy shit, dude…" I gasped, looking her over, my heart skipping beats, "Allen, this is fucking beautiful. Is she yours?"

"I wish," he chuckled to himself, "No. She's my brother's car. Mine's in the shop. Fuel injector went out on it. But…He doesn't _exactly know _I'm borrowing it."

"So," I put two and two together, "In all technicality, you stole it?"

"I have the keys," Allen assured, "It's not stealing when you're family. Or when you have the keys. He just…Doesn't know I have it. I'm sure he'll figure it out. Alfred has his moments where he's lucky he's a pretty face, but he's not that stupid. Just…Come on. Get in before someone sees."

"Who would see?" I wondered, hopping the door with total disregard of my skirt going up. I had underpants on!

"We don't know if Oliver's watching," he put his sunglasses on, hiding most of his face. It's dark outside, but ok. Go off.

"Actually," I pointed out, "I just got a text from him. He's at home. Everything's good."

"Good," Allen took off from the parking lot, "Look…About Francois…"

"What about him?" I wondered.

"There's a good chance he may be a tad drunk," he warned me, "But he's totally harmless. He's a very docile drunk. But he can also be a hint skittish, so approach him gently. And if he's in a spiral, we may not get to talk to him tonight."

"Ok." What the fuck are you getting me into, Allen? Should I keep Oliver on speed dial, just in case shit goes down?

We started heading out toward the outskirts of town to what looked like an old plantation house. I'd be lying if I said it looked like it was well maintained. Parts of it looked kind of dilapidated. Other parts looked like I was going to catch hepatitis if I wasn't careful. And one of the windows upstairs happened to be boarded up. Oh, God. Is this the part where Allen tells me he's taken me to a meth lab? Because I don't want to stick around a meth lab. I don't care what this Francois guys says. I'm not getting involved in meth.

"Hey…" Allen took my hand, easing my shaking, "I know it doesn't look like much, but you're safe here, Amy. I promise. Besides, Matt's probably here, too."

"Ok," I could breathe a little easier.

"Someone has to keep an eye on Francois, you know?" he shrugged, pushing the front door open, "Sometimes, he's not…exactly ok. But we all have our black days, right?"

"I'm sure," I wasn't quite following him, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"Francois!" Allen called out into the house, "Put your good pants on! We have a lady in the house."

"Why should I put my good pants on for that?" a voice rumbled from the living room. Wait a minute…I knew this guy. I've seen him before. The homeless guy from the café. At least I know he got home ok and in one piece. Now, things started making more sense when Allen said we all had our black days. Was he Francois?

"Because," Allen explained, "She doesn't need to see you in your boxers. Have some decency."

"Fuck decency," Francois took a heavy drink from the bottle of wine in his hand, "Why bother? For her sake? I don't think so."

"Come on," Allen gave him a nudge, "Don't make me do it, Francois."

"Do what?" Francois grumbled.

"I'll do it," Allen got his phone, "I'll call Francis."

"That was fucking low, Allen," Francois snapped, ready to tear Allen's throat out. Of course, I hid behind Allen. Self-preservation instincts kicked in.

"Allen," I whispered in his ear, "Who's Francis?"

"His twin brother," Allen explained, "He hates when he finds out Francois isn't taking care of himself. That means he has to come over and take care of him and nothing puts Francois in a tizzy quite like when Francis is around."

"What does he have to be so damn happy about?" Francois grabbed the pair of pants draped over the arm of his couch and put them on, "It's like that guy lives in a completely different world where everything is fucking sunshine and goddamn lollipops…Either that or he's just an idiot. Honestly, I could see both. What did you want, Allen? What's worth me putting my good pants on?"

"Sit down, Amy," Allen insisted. There was an armchair that looked awfully comfortable across from the couch, "In case it wasn't obvious, this cuddly creature is Francois. He can be kind of a prick, so take what he says with a grain of salt."

"Fuck you, Allen," Francois took another hit from his wine.

"Francois, this is important," Allen leaned over the back of my chair, "Especially because of who she is."

"Who are you?" Francois completely blew off Allen, "You're the only one in this room I don't want to drive through the fucking wall."

"I love you, too," Allen shot him a quick wink.

"Um…" I wasn't sure how to handle him. He seemed like he didn't want me there. But then again, he thought the same of Allen, too, "I'm Amy…"

"Amy…" Francois studied me a little closer, "By chance, is your full name Amelia?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Why?"

"You need to tell her about Oliver," Allen ordered, completely over fucking around.

Francois turned to stone after a mere mention of his name. Kind of like Allen did when he brought Matt in with him to the café. After a long, long, long drink from his bottle, finishing it, Francois came to again. Only to open another bottle, "You want to know about Oliver Kirkland? Get out while you still can. He's…He's a different monster altogether. He's not someone to be taken lightly. If you still have wiggle room, get out. Get out and run. Run far and run fast. That's what I'd do."

"But," I took his bottle from him, getting a drink myself. He may have glared a hole through me for taking some of his wine, but I didn't care. I needed to know and maybe a little bit of wine isn't going to kill me, "How do you know all of this? Maybe he's changed."

"Oliver?" Francois scoffed, "No, no, cheri. Someone like Oliver doesn't change. Trust me. I've barked up that tree before."

"I mean," I thought it over, "I've lived with him for the last couple weeks and…"

"You _live _with him?!" Francois freaked, "Are you fucking high?!"

"I had nowhere else to go after I split up with my boyfriend," I admitted, "And since Oliver had helped me out in the past, I thought…"

"You should've thought a little harder!" he snarled at me, his clenched fists, pounding on the table, "Do you have no self-respect or are you just that stupid?!"

"Francois!" Allen tried backing him off, but he couldn't do it on his own, "Shit…MATT! GET DOWN HERE!"

"Look, Amy," Francois got in my face, "It's already too late for you. But that's on you."

"Papa!" Matt came downstairs, pulling Francois back down to the couch, "What the hell? You can't just go at her like that!"

"Whatever," Francois rolled his eyes, taking another drink, "There's no sense in saving her, Allen. I know that's the whole hero bullshit in you, but don't even bother. She's a lost cause."

"Have you taken your meds today?" Matt went into the kitchen, checking the medicine cabinet.

"They don't work anymore," Francois grumbled, "They don't even get me high anymore."

"Allen," Matt scolded him, "I thought we talked about this. We'd introduce Amy to Francois in due time."

"Shit's getting serious, man," Allen defended, "She has to know now before it's too late."

"It already is too late," Francois took another drink, "If she's already living with Oliver, she's done. There's no point."

"Hold on," I stopped him, "Francois, can I ask you a question?"

"Might as well…"

"How do you know Oliver?" I wondered.

"How do you think?" Francois shut his eyes tight, a single tear rolling down his cheek, "We fell in love…"


	13. Open Book

**A/N: Hi, guys! We don't talk nearly as much as what we should. And I'm sorry about that. But we had a guest review last week! From…Wait a second…HelloThere, what are you doing here? AND DURING SCHOOL HOURS?! As your internet mother, I can't say I approve. However, as someone who needs the views for validation, I greatly appreciate it. So, how about I give you that new chapter you asked so nicely for? I can do that. All while Thomas the Tank Engine plays in my living room.**

"Do you drink, Amy?" Francois got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen for a pair of wine glasses. It's good to see him slowing down. And a bit more civilized.

"Not really," I told him.

"Well," Francois sat back down and poured one for me anyway, "You're going to tonight."

"Ok." It looks like I didn't get a say in it. I had a hard time believing Francois and Oliver were ever a thing.

"Here," Francois slid my glass across the table and lit a cigarette.

"Thank you."

"You know, Francois," Allen stormed over to the window, "I don't give a shit if you smoke in the house, but open a fucking window first."

"Why?" Francois blew out a cloud of smoke, "I know you're going to do it for me anyway, Allen. I don't have to get up and you get what you want. Everyone wins."

"You're exhausting," Allen threw himself into the other chair while Matt laughed a little in the corner.

"And you're kind of a pain in my ass."

"Guys," I stopped them before anything could really escalate, "Francois, could you tell me more about Oliver?"

"I already told you," Francois took a drink from his glass, "Oliver and I were once in love. When we met, I was at my lowest I had ever been. I could hardly keep an apartment. Finding a job where I didn't constantly think about killing someone was nearly impossible. My episodes were getting worse. Yet somehow, I took comfort in knowing I had that as a one constant. As a…sort of last ditch effort, I decided to walk into a crisis center. If I didn't, it'd only be a matter of time before I got arrested for public intoxication and likely have it court ordered anyway."

"At least this way," I figured, "it's on your own terms."

"Exactly," Francois took a drag from his cigarette, "But that was when things took a turn for the shitty. Ironic, considering it happened at a crisis center. I went in. I sat and waited for a few minutes, still unsure as to why I was even there in the first place. That level of desperation, I guess. Eventually, they paired me up with a counselor."

"Oliver?" I assumed.

"No," Francois shook his head, "I had three different counselors give up on me before they sent me to Oliver. One of them left crying. Another one needed his own session after we were done. But I was in that crisis center for three hours and walked out. It was nothing but empty bullshit and a waste of time. Why should I stay? I walked back to the lobby, signed myself out, and then, there he was. The one person who didn't want to give up on me."

"And that was Oliver," I refilled my wine, debating on whether or not to top off Francois. Politeness told me yes, but logic and reasoning told me no. This guy seemed like he had a problem.

"He was a ball of sunshine," Francois went on, "Like a Care Bear fucked Rainbow Brite and got a reach around from Strawberry Shortcake. His relentless joy and cheeriness annoyed the fuck out of me and was enough to make anyone sick, but I figured he'd be good for a night. Just a little something, something to take the edge off. He offered to make me dinner that night instead. It had been a while since I had a hot meal in my stomach, so I agreed. If all else failed, I had that going for me. As much as I didn't want to, I went back to his house with him."

"Papa," Matt stopped him, "You don't have to…"

"And you don't have to cut me off!" Francois scolded him, "I'll stop whenever I damn well feel like it!"

"Sorry…" Matt bit his tongue, slowly inching toward the wine bottle. I couldn't agree more. It's definitely time to cut Francois off. And Allen told me he was a docile drunk.

"Where was I?" Francois thought for a moment or two.

"Oliver's house," Allen reminded him.

"Oh yeah," Francois continued, "The gates of hell. I wasn't going to, but I went into his house, sat at his dining room table, finished off the scotch in my flask. Then, he came out with the most beautiful pot roast. A freshly baked loaf of bread. More food than two people could possibly eat in one sitting. But goddamn…I was hungry and it looked too fucking good to leave. As the night went on, I just…I broke. I didn't expect the walls to come down so soon, but they did. After that…Oliver made me feel so loved for the first time in a very, very long time. I didn't want to let him go."

"He had you hooked," I spoke softly, seeing a pattern.

"Love is a hell of a drug, cheri," Francois nodded, "The high is like nothing else. The addiction can kill you. The withdrawal is worse than dying. I fell so hard and so fast. When I saw him in the lobby of the crisis center, I never thought I would've ended up with him. But after a few months of Oliver taking care of me through various episodes, doing things for me I didn't have the energy to do myself, that's when Oliver started acting a little different. He got possessive and scary. Not just over me, but over Matt and Allen, too. And if Oliver didn't get his way, all hell broke loose."

"Really…?" I had a bad feeling in my belly.

"Yeah," Matt shuddered, "Those were dark times."

"It's not a good idea for you to stick around there for long," Allen warned.

"Amelia," Francois took my hands, "If you know anything about what's good for you, you'll get out of there as soon as you can. Before it's too late…"

"Hey, Francois," Allen wondered, "Should we tell her the rest of the story?"

"No," Francois shot him down, "She's heard enough for today. It'd be too much for her to handle at once."

"But Francois," I filled him in, "Oliver's been good to me. There haven't been any signs of him getting territorial. He gives me my space when I ask for it. At the same time, he also takes good care of me. It's not like he's overstepping boundaries to the point where I'm uncomfortable. He knows his limits. Maybe Oliver is capable of change."

"Not Oliver," Francois promised, putting out one cigarette in the ashtray just to light up another one, "Trust me, Amy. If there is one person incapable of change, it's Oliver Kirkland."

I still believed what I saw. Francois may have had a different experience with him, but that doesn't mean history will repeat itself. I'm sure Oliver had his side of the story, too, "But Francois…He's been so kind to me. After my ex and I got into it one night, my cheek had broken glass in it. Oliver cleaned it up. He offered me a place to stay. And I've pretty much been there ever since."

"That's how he gets you!" Francois snapped, "Oliver preys on the weak, the pathetic, the beaten, and the broken. He fixes sad sacks like us and never lets us go. You don't ever leave Oliver Kirkland's house. You escape."

"Maybe you're overreacting," I finished my wine.

"You don't believe me?" Francois got pissed off, his empty glass flying across the room. Immediately, I flinched, my head filling with horrible flashbacks. It was like a highlight reel of the worst moments in my relationship with Reid. Suddenly, I started shaking uncontrollably.

"Francois!" Allen yelled, shooting a subliminal message to Matt, "What the fuck, man?! That was totally uncalled for!"

"If she's not going to listen," Francois rolled his eyes, "Then, why should I bother? She's just wasting my fucking time."

"But Francois…" Allen spoke a little softer, trying to settle things down, "If…"

"I'm not going to argue with you, Allen," Francois put his foot down.

"She doesn't know any better!" Allen stood his ground, getting just as angry as Francois was, "You know as well as I do. No one deserves to go through what we did."

"Allen!" Francois was done with him, "She'll manage. If Oliver's so fucking good to her and treats her like a fucking queen, why should we even step in? Now, get the fuck out of my house!"

"Fine!" Allen grabbed me and stormed out onto the porch, ready to punch someone. I should probably take a healthy step out of his swinging radius, "Fuck me, that guy's a pain in the ass!"

"Allen," Matt followed us outside, "Are you ok?"

"I'm fucking pissed!"

"I know," Matt calmed him down, "But you know how Papa can get. And he's been drinking all afternoon."

"Obviously," Allen rolled his eyes, leaning against the front of the house.

"And you know how Oliver brings out the worst in us," Matt pointed out, "Really, Amy…He's not what you think he is."

"Could I at least go back in there?" I requested, treading lightly, "Tell him I'm sorry for upsetting him?"

"It's no use," Matt explained, "Once Papa gets wound up, it takes him a while before he settles down completely. I'm going to see if I can get him to go to bed. Allen, why don't you take Amy home? It's getting late. I'm sure Oliver's worried and that's another powder keg we don't need to set off tonight."

"Ok," Allen nodded, "Come on, Amy…"

"Hold on," Matt looked out in the driveway, "Allen…Does Alfred know you have his car?"

"Why?" Allen jumped on the defensive, "Are you a cop?"

"Just curious," Matt let it go, "But I'll take that as a no."

"He'll be fine!" Allen got into the driver's seat, "As long as I don't scratch it and I fill the tank up, Alfred doesn't care."

"If you say so," Matt waved us off and Allen brought me home. I'd love to meet his brother one day. His other brother. Just to see if he lives up to the hype. I had a feeling I'd like him. Regardless, Allen and I had a quiet ride back home to no one's surprise. I couldn't blame him for being quiet. Allen would get skittish if Oliver's name even came up in conversation. He even parked a block away from the house when he dropped me off.

"Hey, Amy…" Allen hardly spoke above a whisper, tightly gripping the steering wheel, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Allen," I allowed, "What's on your mind?"

"Would you ever want to do this again?" he wondered, "With the exception of Francois losing his shit and Matt having to hold him back?"

"Sure," I nodded, "I like hanging out with you, Allen. I'd love to do this again. And maybe next time, I could not be an accessory to grand theft auto."

"Alfred doesn't care!" Allen swore, "I'll fill it up and return it in one piece! If you're lucky, you'll meet him next time."

"I look forward to it," I smiled, excited for our second date.

Then, Allen threw his arms around me, hugging me tight, "Please, Amy. Be careful around Oliver. I don't know if he has anything planned, but…Just be on your guard."

"Does him throwing out one of my vintage t-shirts count as plotting?" I asked, still a little pissed about that.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "What was on it?"

"It was a band's tour shirt from 1987," I told him, "Damn near killed him over it."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Allen winced, "Who was it for?"

"Rage Against the Machine."

"Oh, Amy…" Allen's embrace tightened, "I'm so, so sorry. I would've killed him, too."

"It'll be ok," I brushed him off, "I'll go online and try to find another one. But for now, I'm going to bed."

"Ok," Allen let me go, "Good night, Amy."

"Good night, Allen," I gave him a wave and walked back home. The thought of a bed made me all tingly inside, but the thought of getting up for work in the morning filled me with existential dread. Nevertheless, I wanted to get some sleep. As quiet as a church mouse, I shut the front door behind me. Hopefully, Oliver listened to me and didn't wait up. Granted, it was only a few minutes after ten, but he really should get some sleep. He'd have no room to bitch at me about it anymore.

"Hello, darling." Sure enough, Oliver sat in the living room with his knitting needles in hand and a project forming in his lap. I'm not quite sure what it's intended to be, but there's a lot of white and a lot of pale pink. In all honesty, it looked cozy…and warm.

"Oliver," I jumped a little, "I thought you would've gone to bed by now."

"No," he sat back in his rocking chair, "I couldn't sleep. Not until I knew you were home safely. You're also late."

"I'm a few minutes late," I brushed him off, dropping my bag on the stairs, "It's not the end of the world."

"Regardless," Oliver put his knitting down, "Please. Come sit with me."

"I'd love to," I bit my lip, "But I'm kind of tired and I want to go to bed."

"It'll only be for a few minutes," he promised, "Please?"

"Fine," I sat across from him, ready to pass out.

"How was your study group?" Oliver asked, listening intently.

Oh, shit. That's right. I was supposed to be at a study group. Quick, Amy. You can think of something, "It was fine. We studied. Ancient cultures can trip some of us up once in a while."

"I'm afraid I couldn't be much help to you there," he shrugged, "But did you eat something while you were out?"

I didn't…I did have some wine with your ex, though. I probably should've eaten something. I'd be ok, though. Once Oliver goes to sleep, I can slip downstairs and find something, "Yeah. We got pizza. I'm good."

"Alright," Oliver let it go, not reading too much more into it, "Well, if that's it then, I'd like for us to do like we did last night. That was nice. And a wonderful way to end the day, if you ask me. I'm sure you enjoyed it as well."

"I did," I nodded, "That's fine with me."

"Good," he got up from his chair and offered me his hand, "Come along then, Amelia. Would you like a bath before you go to bed?"

"No," I shook my head, "I'm good. But thank you. Your bathtub is a gift from God and you can't convince me otherwise."

"No one said I'd ever try," Oliver agreed, pulling me to my feet, "It is quite nice, isn't it?"

"Like being wrapped in a hug," I swooned, "A warm, never ending hug."

Oliver and I went upstairs and into the guest room. He pulled open the drawer in the nightstand and already had the cream in there. As I laid down, the smell of strawberries put me at ease. I don't understand why the others were so nervous about me living with Oliver. It's not like anything bad was happening here. Everything was ok. I'd be able to rest a little easier tonight. Granted, I've never had a roommate that ever actively wanted to tuck me in before, but Oliver was definitely a different kind of special.

"You know, Amelia," Oliver sat at the edge of my bed, rubbing his finger in small circles around my face, "While you were out this evening, I did a little shopping. And I got something for you."

"Is it more of this?" I wondered, my eyelids already getting heavier by the second, "Because I could do with more of this."

"No," he reached back into the drawer, pulling out a different light pink bottle, "I figured this would look nice on your toes."

Huh…I didn't make it much of a habit to wear nail polish. Mostly because I'd bite the shit out of my fingernails anyway, so I didn't bother buying any. And the thought of anyone getting near my feet repulsed me, "I don't know about that, Oliver."

"It won't be like I'm shoving needles into your skin," Oliver pointed out, moving toward the end of the bed, "It'll be fine."

"No," I put my foot down. Quite literally in this case, "Please. I understand you mean well, but…No…I had an ex-boyfriend a long time ago that had a serious foot thing. Any time he'd stay the night with me, he'd be on my feet for hours and hours at a time. And…I don't like anyone near my feet anymore. I get the gut feeling they're going to start sucking on my toes like he did."

"Alright," he backed off, "Another time perhaps. In any case, it is getting late and we could both stand the rest."

"Yeah," I was damn near asleep anyway.

"Good night, Amelia," Oliver pulled my blankets over me a little better and kissed my forehead, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Oliver," I rolled over and shut my eyes, content with the world. I still didn't understand where Francois was coming from. No longer was I the weak and broken, yet Oliver still wouldn't hesitate to take care of me. Maybe he was overexaggerating. I wasn't familiar enough with him to know what his drunk ticks were. And if the stories were all true, then I really do think Oliver is more capable of change than Francois knows.


	14. Alternate Universe

The next morning, I woke up to the strangest smell. Normally, it smelled like breakfast on Christmas morning. Like cinnamon and vanilla and warmth. This was stronger. Like chemicals. Or this salon my mom used to go to all the time when I was younger. When I sat up in bed, I noticed my feet were sticking out from my blankets. My toes were painted a light shade of pink.

When the hell was the last time my toenails were painted pink? I was probably six. I don't even remember painting my toes in the last three months, let alone light pink. But then, it hit me. Oliver. It had to be. The paint still smelled fresh. But I told him last night that people touching my feet made me uncomfortable. If that's the case, did he do them while I was asleep? Weird.

I shook off my discomfort and got out of bed. The further I distanced myself from my room, the more I could smell Christmas morning again. This was much better. However, my morning only got stranger. Oliver wasn't in the kitchen. He wasn't washing the dishes or plating my cinnamon roll. He wasn't taking shit out of the oven. Where in the fuck did Oliver go?

I took a look around the kitchen and Oliver was nowhere to be found. Huh. Maybe he's still in bed. No way. Oliver always gets up before I do. Still, I ran back upstairs and peeked my head in his door. Ghost town. I'm starting to worry. Something didn't feel right. I went back into the kitchen and sat at the counter. Where in the hell did Oliver run off to?

"Good morning, Amelia!" Speak of the devil, Oliver came out from the laundry room around the corner, "I'm sorry. One of my aprons got some blackberry jam on it."

"Good morning," I watched my cinnamon roll slide across the counter. It was just some blackberry jam. I'm letting Francois get in my head. People are capable of change, including Oliver. He's just letting me crash here until I can afford a new apartment. Even though it'd be nice to stay forever…But I'm also a big girl. I can live on my own, too.

"Everything alright, love?" Oliver looked me over, "You seem troubled. Is there something on your mind?"

"No," I shook off someone else's paranoia, "I'm good. No trouble at all."

"That's good to hear," he poured himself a cup of tea, "So, Amelia, do you have class tonight?"

I thought about it for a moment or two. Given what Francois told me last night and how Allen bursts into a cold sweat every time Oliver comes up in conversation, I wasn't sure what to do. I liked being around Oliver. He and I have never had a problem (aside from my Rage t-shirt) since I moved in. He's been a hell of a friend through the Reid bullshit. People are capable of change. And Oliver is no exception to that.

"Yeah," I sang out, "I think so. Why?"

"Curious," Oliver pulled up a chair across the counter from me, "I was thinking you and I could do something tonight."

"Well," I got up, "I have to go to work. I'll be home later."

"Alright, darling," he let me go, "Have a good day at work!"

"Will do." Yeah. He's alright.

I needed to get to the office. Anything to get Francois out of my head. I didn't see any red flags this morning. Aside from seeing my pink toes this morning and him not being in the kitchen when I came down. No, Amy. You're getting Francois in your head again. Don't take on his paranoia. I'm sure a good eight hour shift of slinging drinks will help take my mind off things. And the walk there helped clear my head, too.

However, when I turned the corner, a city utility vehicle sat in front of the café. I wouldn't have been worried normally. A few city workers came in a couple times a week. No problem. The fact that Helen stood outside with her face in her hands was what made me sweat. With a nervous pit in my stomach, I slowly approached my emotionally distraught boss.

"Helen?" I wondered, gently putting a hand on her shoulder, "Is everything ok? What's going on?"

"Hi, sweetie," Helen wiped the tears out of her eyes, "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to call you. You don't need to come in today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that…"

"What happened?" I worried, the knot in my stomach only getting worse.

"The health department found a giant rats' nest in our kitchen," her voice broke, "and mold in the ceiling tiles. They shut us down, Amy. They're suggesting we all get tested, but it's not necessary."

"They're closing the café?" I gasped, "I'm sure there's something we can do. Can't we just call the…?"

"Amy…" Helen handed me the order, "It's done. I'll get you your last paycheck as soon as I can."

Shit…I'm…I'm out of a job? Great. I need the money now more than ever, but rats and mold have fucked me over today. Fantastic. That's all I need. A part of me wanted to go back to see Francois just to score some of his wine. A drink would hit the spot right now. Isn't that what people do after they find out they lost their job? Hole up in the nearest bar, drink their last paycheck, and hold their head in their hands, wondering what the fuck they're going to do now? No. I won't be that cliché.

"Amy!" a familiar voice felt like a hug to my soul.

"Hey, Allen," I leaned up against the building next door.

"Why the long face?" Allen took the spot next to me, "You seem down."

"I just lost my job," I told him, "It sucks."

"I'm sorry," he put an arm around me, "That does suck."

"Thank you," I reveled in his comforting embrace. This was needed. This was sorely needed. Ever since Helen told me, I've been holding tears back like crazy.

"I mean," Allen thought, "Who am I going to scam for free coffee now?"

"Thanks, asshole," I gave him a heavy-handed swat to the chest, "I mean, I just lost my job, but sure. Let's focus on you scamming lattes out of me."

"I'm just giving you shit," he apologized, "I didn't think it'd set you off so bad. Just trying to make light of a bad situation."

"I appreciate the distraction," I let it go, "But it's been a fucking day already. I'm a little on edge."

"I see that," Allen took my hand, "Come on. Let's take a walk."

"Ok." I didn't need to be alone right now. After the shitshow my day has been, a little time with Allen could do my soul some good.

"So," we began our leisurely stroll away from the café, "Does this mean you're free for the rest of the day?"

"That is the dumbest question you've ever asked me," I rolled my eyes.

"Again," Allen bit his lip, playing with the studs hanging out of it, "Best of a bad situation. What can I say? Mostly pure of heart."

"And the rest of you is dumb of ass," I teased him.

"I try my best," he took a well-deserved, yet horribly sarcastic bow, "Seriously, though, Amy…Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah," I brushed him off, "I should be alright. I'll find a new job soon enough. I'll live."

"You know…" Allen spoke softly, "If worst comes to worst and you come to your senses about Oliver, I know somewhere you could crash for a while. At least until you get back on your feet."

"What?" I let out a soft gasp, "No, Allen, I couldn't ask you to do that. I appreciate the offer. That's really sweet, but I'm not going to put you through my problems. Besides, I feel like Francois would have a problem with that."

"No," he clarified, "Although, I doubt Francois would even know you're there."

"Ouch," I winced, "Hurtful, but likely accurate."

"I was talking about Alfred," Allen explained, "He has a spare bedroom at his apartment. He won't breathe over your bed while you're trying to sleep."

"That's…" I cringed. I haven't even met the guy. I sure as hell hope he wouldn't be breathing over my bed, "A good thing…"

"Alfred's a good dude," he promised, "He really is. If he gets close enough to sniff you, just let him smell your hand. Then, you can pet him."

"Allen…" I stared blankly, "What…the fuck?"

"Screwing with you," Allen and I stopped in front of his brother's car, "Seriously, if you need anything, let me know. Actually, if you want, you could meet Alfred today. Unless you got other shit going on."

"After class," I decided, "Study group?"

"Study group," he smiled a little, "I'm down if you are. And I'll make sure Alfred behaves himself."

"Well," I rocked back on my heels, "I should be going. Even though I got fired today, I still have shit to do."

"Before you go, though," Allen reached into his front seat and grabbed a brown gift bag, "I got you a little present."

"You didn't have to do that," I accepted it anyway. It's sweet that he was thinking about me.

"Trust me," a little smirk stretched across his face, "You're going to want to keep this."

Whatever it was, Allen's present was nice and soft. I pulled a black and white baseball t-shirt out of the bag. When I unfolded it, a picture of a boy in a cape was plastered on it. Along with a familiar name. Immediately, my heart stopped, "Allen…"

"Look," Allen defended himself, "I know it's from Evil Empire, but it is vintage. I figured it could…"

I didn't even think twice. I threw myself into his chest, hugging him tight, "Thank you. Really, you didn't have to do this. But I'm glad you did."

"You're welcome," he awkwardly patted my back, "Ok…You can let go any time, Amy…"

"This day started like absolute shit," I held back the little sob in my throat, "I needed this today."

"Go on," Allen peeled me off him, "Like you said, you got shit to do."

"Ok," I pulled myself together, "Thank you. I'll see you tonight."

"That's the plan," he vaulted over the door and drove off. I like him. He's alright. I wonder how much Alfred is like Allen. By the way he talks, they're practically night and day. But I couldn't wait to meet him.

In the meantime, I needed to find a new job. I can take a day off, though, can't I? I mean, it's not like I have to worry about being fired. But did I really have anything else to do today? No. Not that I could think of. I could spend the day just screwing around, but honestly, what good would that do? I could go see if Reid was home and see how he was doing, but that would just open old wounds I didn't need to pour margarita salt into. I guess I could just go home. That sounded like a hell of a plan, too. After the day I've already had, I could stand to crawl back into bed and wallow for a few hours before class started.

When I walked up the front porch steps, I kind of wanted to sit on the swing for a while. Oliver's front flowerbeds were something to be admired. All of the bright, beautiful colors coming together to add some cheer to the neighborhood. It wouldn't surprise me if he's won awards for them. At least I hope so. The front flowerbeds were mainly roses. Although, a couple big oak trees stood proudly, shading all of the other smaller plants below. I bet the view from up there isn't too bad. But then, a cool gust of wind snapped against my skin. Admiration over. I needed to go inside.

I took a quick look around the living room, then around the kitchen, then the den, then back to the front stairs. Huh…It's strange. No Oliver? Maybe he's not home. Oh, well. The solitude would be nice, too. I did have a nice conversation with Allen and I'd see him later. If Oliver's not home, it won't be a total loss. Although, I do like seeing my roommate, too. I ran up the stairs and started walking toward the guest room. That bed called my name with a hint of seduction in its voice. Come to me, Amy. Come lay down for a while and forget your woes and worries. Let them all drift away as you drift to sleep…It's alright…What the fuck is going on in my head?

"Amelia?" Oliver came out of his bedroom, "You're home early. Is everything alright?"

"Things have been better," I vented, "The café got shut down and I lost my job today."

"Oh, goodness," he clutched his chest, "I'm so sorry to hear that, darling. What happened?"

"Health department found mold and rats," I told him, "It was too much to keep the place running, so they gave the order this morning before I got in."

"So," Oliver thought for a moment, "Does that mean you're home for the rest of the day then?"

"Until class tonight," I corrected him, "Yeah."

"Hold on," he caught a glimpse of the bag in my hand, "What's that?"

Think on your feet, Amy. Allen wants me to keep him out of anything Oliver related. And I'll be damned if I go back on that promise, "It's a t-shirt. I walked by a thrift store on the way home and found one to replace the one you threw out. Same band and everything. I'd say it was a lucky find."

"That's nice." I don't think I'll ever get Oliver to come around on my appreciation for vintage clothing. But I can let that slide, "Well, if you're going to be home until you go to class, maybe we could spend the day together. I mean…We haven't really spent much time together since we went shopping last. You've either been tied up at work or at school. How about it?"

"Well…" I gave it a thought. Dare I? I mean…He did have a point, "Sure. Why not?"

"Yay!" Oliver's face lit up.

I mean…I really didn't have anything better to do. Besides, going shopping with Oliver has always been fun. What the hell? Why not?


	15. Catching Up

Don't get me wrong. I never had a problem hanging out with Oliver. Usually, we'd have a good time. I just wish it wasn't so fucking draining. Especially when we'd make trips to the mall together. Oliver Kirkland had one of those personalities where it was difficult to say no to him. Between the sparkle in his eyes and the sweet lilt in his voice, he could sell a matchstick in Hell. And with me in the slightly depressive headspace I was already in, he's fully taking advantage of it. But I can't blame him. He just wanted to do something nice for me.

However, I will never understand why that boy had such an obsession with covering me in frills. Bows, ribbons, ruffles, pastels. Anything that sparkled had found its way onto my body. If it had the potential to make me look like a damn cupcake, I was trying it on. And chances are, I'd be walking out with it. Why? Because I had a hard time saying no to Oliver. Although, the last store…The last store was a different story.

It all started with a much-needed trip to Hot Topic. I was on a search for a new pair of earrings and I knew I could get fake plugs here. Although, I was looking for some fake tapers and I knew I could get those, too. I felt a nervous hand on my shoulder, "Amelia…"

"What?" I stood in line, thumbing through the button bin for some kind of quip I could halfheartedly relate to for a cheap laugh.

"What is this place?" Oliver cowered behind me, "It feels…unholy."

"It's just a Hot Topic," I settled him, putting a set of studs and roses on the counter with a couple of buttons and a set of friendship enamel pins. Next time I see Allen, he's getting the other half. We'll call it payback for the Evil Empire t-shirt, "Relax, Oliver. It's ok."

"I'll be waiting outside," he told me, "Don't be too long. We have another store to go to.

"Ok." Another one? I had been on my feet all day with the exception of us getting lunch and I just wanted to go home. It is just one more store. I could handle it. Maybe the girl behind the counter with the face full of metal scared him off. Regardless, I walked out of there with a bag on my finger without any fake tapers. That's kind of a bummer. I liked having spikes in my ears. Oh, well. Oliver had made himself comfortable on a bench outside, dousing himself in strawberry scented hand sanitizer. It's weird. It smelled just like a candy I used to have all the time when I was a kid.

"Oh, Amelia," Oliver threw his arms around me, "Thank goodness, you made it out of there alive."

"Of course, I did," I giggled, "Oliver, I promise it's not nearly as bad as you think."

"It's so dark and depressing," he groaned, dragging me behind him, "I know somewhere we need to go."

"Where's that?" Why did I have a bad feeling? It's one more store, Amy. You'll live. One more and you can go home."

As per our last few stores, I sat in the dressing room while Oliver walked around the store looking for anything he can put me in. I expected the standard fare. The bows, the ruffles, the glitter. But a bright white dress flew over the door. This wasn't something that made me look like a cupcake. Instead, it looked like something a person would put their baby in before their christening. I had no intentions of getting baptized today and I hope Oliver would understand that. If those were, in fact, his plans. I doubt it, though. What the hell? I pulled the zipper in the back and threw the skirt over my head.

Once I got a look at myself, any thoughts of a potential baptism fell away. I looked like a porcelain doll. I hated to admit it, but Oliver knew what he was doing. Would I say it was me? Hell no. I was more for a good, tight pair of jeans and a t-shirt. But every once in a while, this wouldn't be too bad. If it didn't make me look like a giant toddler.

"Oliver," I groaned, "Can we be done yet?"

"Soon," Oliver promised, "Are you dressed yet?"

"Yeah," I leaned against the wall, using it for support, "But I look a little…Too old to be wearing something like this."

"Show me," he demanded.

"Fine," I walked out of the dressing room, showing off what he had picked for me. Personally, I didn't like it, but that didn't stop his face from lighting up like a damn Christmas tree.

"Amelia!" Oliver gasped, "You're so cute!"

"I'm exhausted," I sighed out.

"But," he argued, "Is this not better than you going to work?"

"I guess," I admitted, ready to pass out. Caffeine sounded like a hell of an idea, "But seriously, can we go home now? I'm wrecked and I still have to go to class and study group."

"Oh…" Oliver's excitement didn't last long, "I was kind of hoping you'd stay home tonight…"

"Hey," I promised, "I'll be back."

"Alright," he let it go, "But you know what? You really should wear that to class tonight, Amelia. It suits you."

"Fine," I wasn't going to argue with him. I didn't have that kind of energy in me. Besides, I still had an ace in the hole. Something to tone this down and make it feel more like…Well, like me, "We'll make a quick stop at home and I'll head off to class, ok?"

"Ok," Oliver slipped his hand into mine, "We really should do this more often, poppet. I like going out with you like this."

"I like going out with you, too," I smiled a little. Today may have been exhausting and emotionally taxing, but dammit, it's been fun, too. Oliver had a way of doing that. How? I may never know. But I needed it today. More than ever. More importantly, though, after we dropped off all the bags from our adventures, I found the Rage t-shirt Allen gave me and threw it on over the top part of my dress. There. Now, that felt more like me. A bright white tulle skirt with a black and white baseball t-shirt with the Evil Empire kid on it. If this wasn't me in a nutshell.

And just like that, I grabbed a Red Bull at the convenience store and headed to class with my bag on my hip. I sat down in my normal spot in the outside aisle toward the middle of the room. Finally, I could relax today. Granted, I lost my job, but I went shopping with my roommate all day. And I was physically and emotionally exhausted. Maybe if I ask Allen really nice, he'll take my notes for me again and let me get a quick nap in class. However, I'd rather not get on my professor's shit list. Not today.

"You know…" Speak of the devil, "This is a cute look for you, Amy."

"Which part?" I wondered, "The dark circles under my eyes, the tulle skirt, or the Rage Against the Machine t-shirt over my dress?"

"All of it," Allen sat next to me, "It's good to see you're still in there. The dress feels like Oliver's doing."

"It was Oliver's doing," I admitted, "He picked it out for me this afternoon. We did a little shopping."

"Lucky you," he shuddered, "I'm guessing he didn't know you left the house looking like that."

"Probably not."

"It's weird," Allen joked, "I never thought I'd ever see a girl in my t-shirt. But you pull it off nicely."

"Thank you," I reached into the front pocket of my bag, "By the way, while I was out this afternoon, I got you a present. It's kind of lame, but it's the thought that counts."

"You didn't have to do that, Amy," he awed, "But what'd you get me?"

"Here," I gave him the other half of the pin set. The other half of the twin popsicle, "Like I said, I know it's kind of lame, but…"

"This is adorable," Allen threw his arms around me, "Thank you, Amy. I love it. But you're right. It is kind of lame."

"Shut up," I giggled, "I didn't have to get you anything, but I was walking through Hot Topic today and…"

"Oliver let you go into a Hot Topic?" he laughed, "Seriously? Did you slip him or something?"

"No," I shook my head, "He was with me for the most part. But then, he got a little freaked and had to leave."

"Before or after he exorcised you?"

"There were no exorcisms," I assured, "I mean, there was the thing with the hand sanitizer, but I figured that was more of a germ thing."

"It is," Allen nodded, "But it was also a tick. Anything that goes against Oliver's general alignment will make him instantly uncomfortable. That's just the way he is. And when he's uncomfortable, he'll do something to make himself feel clean again. Which is why he carries hand sanitizer with him everywhere."

"Sounds healthy," I let it slide. Who was I to judge?

"By the way," he went on, "Alfred's picking me up from class tonight."

"So," I figured, "I get to meet Alfred today after all?"

"Without me having to pry you away from Oliver," Allen pointed out, "That's the best part. I mean, it's mostly because he's still kind of pissed about me taking his car the other night, but he'll get over it. Eventually. I hope."

"Did you put gas in it before you brought it back?" I asked, "And was there not a single scratch on her?"

"Yes and yes," he popped the backing off the popsicle pin and found a spot for it on his leather jacket, "But apparently, he'd rather if I asked him about it first. Because the full tank wasn't a thank you enough."

"I can't wait to meet him," I smiled, having a feeling that Alfred would be just as big of a mess as Allen. But in his own, special way.

Allen simply smiled back with a certain glint in his eyes. I couldn't put my finger on what that was, but I think I liked it. Regardless, the two of us sat through class and I struggled to keep my eyes open. Fortunately, Allen was paying attention in class today, so his mesmerizing notes would pick up any of my slack. And the professor never called me out on it. Thank God. After class, I followed Allen out, ready for another Red Bull. I don't know if I could handle another study group. Especially if it was going to be anything like the last one.

"ALLEN!" an excited voice screeched out from the dark.

"Oh, God…" Allen groaned, "By the way, Amy, there was one thing I forgot to mention about Alfred."

"ALLEN!" the voice called out again, "ALLEN! DUDE! IT'S ME! I'M OVER HERE!"

"He's an idiot."

"ALLEN!"

"But," Allen sighed out, "He is a lovable idiot."

"ALLEN!"

"I see that," I giggled under my breath, figuring the one frantically waving from his car was Alfred. The two of us walked over to Alfred's car. Allen kept me behind him. Almost like a human shield. Then again, I've heard stories about Alfred. This was likely for my protection.

"Hey, Allen," Alfred peeked over his shoulder, "Who's your lady friend?"

"Look at her, Alfred," Allen rolled his eyes, "_Really _look at her. Take a guess."

Alfred stepped closer into the light and my heart stopped. It wasn't the fact that he was kind of cute that got to me. It was how familiar he looked even though we've never met each other. And I think he got that vibe from me, too. Maybe we did meet once, but we don't remember it, "You're Amelia."

"It's actually Amy, but…" I got cut off by the biggest, warmest, most loving hug I've ever had in my life. I wasn't sure where it was coming from, but I'll take it, "Alright…Ok…Big guy…Could you maybe let me go?"

"Alfred," Allen ordered, "Drop it."

"But…!"

"Drop it…" Allen repeated. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was talking to a dog.

"Happy to meet you, Amy," Alfred let me go.

"Clearly," I bit the inside of my cheek. Something about Alfred…He gave me the same feeling as Allen. Like the loving, yet pain in the ass, older brothers I never had. Although Alfred more so than Allen. I wasn't sure why, but with them, I just…I don't know. I felt safe.

"By the way, Alfred," Allen vaulted over Alfred's car door, taking shotgun, "She might take your spare bedroom soon. If she knows what's good for her."

"Excuse me?" I stepped in, "Since when was this…"

"Fine by me," Alfred allowed, throwing an arm around my shoulders, "Why not? Besides, it's what you do for…"

"Alfred…" Allen stopped him, "No, no. We haven't gotten that far yet."

"Oh," Alfred backed off, "Alright. Still, it's nice to meet the girl Allen gushes over."

"I don't gush over her," Allen rolled his eyes, "I've told you and Matt about her."

"Oh, we need to take you to my place," Alfred lit up again, "You should meet Mattie! He'd adore you, too!"

"No," Allen stood his ground, getting a spray bottle out of the glove box, heavily spraying Alfred with it, "No. Too much. Back the fuck off."

"I'm going to head home," I stepped in, "It's been a long day and I don't think I could handle a study group session if I wanted to. Sorry, Allen."

"Don't worry about it," Allen let it go, "I understand. Go home. Rest up. We'll see each other tomorrow, probably."

"We don't have class tomorrow, Allen," I pointed out, "But we'll see."

"Ok," he waved me off, "I'll see you later, Amy."

"It was nice meeting you, Amy!" Alfred chimed, frantically waving at me.

"You, too!" Granted, I wasn't a hundred percent sure what to think about Alfred yet. Initial thoughts? He seemed like Allen on the opposite end of the spectrum. If Allen was in a constant good mood and a ray of sunshine, he'd be Alfred. But then, that would mean Allen wouldn't be Allen. Alfred was a little too…I don't know. Motivational speaker for my liking. And I lived with someone like Oliver.

Speaking of, I was beyond exhausted and all I wanted to do was go home and crash. Now, I could finally do just that. Thank God. However, I could've used the ride home. Probably should've asked Alfred for a ride home. But that would put Allen and me too close to each other in Oliver's line of view and he didn't want hat. I couldn't blame him. It's just a few blocks. I could manage to walk a few blocks.

When I got home, I noticed the living room light on and Oliver in his chair with his knitting in his lap, "Amelia! You're home early. I thought you said you had a study group after class tonight."

"I opted out of it," I rubbed my eyes, hardly able to stand as it is, "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

"Are you alright, darling?" Oliver put his knitting down and checked me over, "You look like you don't feel well."

"I'm just tired," I brushed him off, "I'm fine. I'm going to go lay down for a while."

"Alright," he put a hand to my cheek, "Are you sure you're feeling ok?"

"I'm fine, Oliver," I assured, beginning my trek up the stairs, "I'll be ok. You know where to find me if you need me."

"Ok."

In all honesty, I felt like shit. My body could hardly carry itself and this heaviness in my chest wasn't doing me any favors. This time, it wasn't metaphorical. It's like I had a chest cold in its early stages, but I'm sure a little nap could take care of it. That's the best thing to do when I'm sick, right? Rest it out? I fell into my bed and almost instantly fell asleep. I'll be fine. I'm not getting sick. I'm not getting sick. I'm not getting sick. I'll be fine.

A little while later, I woke up to a cool feeling on my forehead. I wasn't sure what it was, but I'm kind of here for it. If I wasn't careful, I'd fall back asleep. But there was no way I was out for more than maybe half an hour. I opened up my eyes to find Oliver sitting at my bedside, "Hi."

"Good morning, love," Oliver smiled a little, "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yeah," I started trying to sit up.

"No, no, no," he pushed me back down, "You stay here."

What the hell…? "Why? Let me up."

"Amelia," Oliver checked me over once more, "Are you absolutely sure you're feeling ok?"

"Yeah." My nap didn't do the wonders it was supposed to. I only felt worse. Shit, I am getting sick, aren't I?

"Really?" he didn't believe me, "Because you're running a slight fever and you slept for three hours."

"But I feel fine," I continued lying through my teeth, hoping Oliver would eventually believe me. Or full on leave me alone. Although the rasp in my voice wasn't helping me.

"Are you hungry?" Oliver asked, "I'm sure you are."

"Not really," I thought it over, not getting the slightest bit of an appetite.

"Just as I thought," he let out a heavy sigh, taking a pair of tablets out of his pocket, "Here."

"What is it?" I wondered, studying them closely for any sort of identification marks.

"They're vitamin B tablets," Oliver filled me in, "Take them in case you are getting sick, so it doesn't escalate from where it is now."

I threw them back with a glass of water and nestled back down in bed, "I really don't think I'm getting sick, Oliver."

"Amelia," he gave me that look. The one where he knew I was full of shit and he had a much more extensive knowledge on what was going down, "You don't have any appetite. Your voice is going out on you. You've been sleeping for most of the early evening. You're running a fever. Even when you came home, you could hardly stand. I don't want to hear it. Just get a little more rest, ok? I'll check on you in the morning."

"Ok," I caved, holding back a yawn.

"Good night, poppet," Oliver kissed my forehead, "Rest well."

"Good night," I rolled back over and shut my eyes again. This is probably just stress catching up to me. I'm fine. I'm not getting sick. There's no fucking way I'm getting sick. I'm ok. And I'm not going to let Oliver convince me otherwise. I'm not sick. Just because I'm warm and not hungry doesn't mean I'm getting sick.


	16. New Arrival

Is this what the gates of Hell feel like? Like head and chest congestion and swallowing a cheese grater? Like a kink in my back and waves of nausea hitting every few seconds? Like the strong desire to throw myself off the roof of this two story Victorian house? Because I might be there. I'm pretty sure this is Hell. Goddamn, I feel worse than I did last night. I thought I could sleep this shit off. I can't get sick right now. Besides, I need to go to wo…Oh, wait. That's right. I don't have one of those anymore. But still, I need to go out and find another one of those, so I can get my life back on track. Not that this detour hasn't been nice, but it's a fantasy. I need to wake up from this dream eventually.

Suddenly, I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. Dammit. One of the downsides of me being sick. I get weepy eyed. And it doesn't take much for me to get emotional while I'm sick. This shit sucks. And even worse, I have a feeling my roommate had a bloodhound's nose from hell for this kind of thing. I could hide it. As far as Oliver's going to be concerned, I'm not sick. I'm perfectly fine. But chances are, my voice will betray me. Yet, if I don't say anything, he's going to be concerned.

"Amelia?" Oliver came into my room, "Are you awake, love?"

"Yeah," I pushed through, "I'm up."

"How are you feeling?" he took a seat at the edge of my bed.

"Better," I lied through my teeth, "Turns out the sleep did what it was supposed to. And whatever it was you gave me last night. I'm golden."

"Are you sure?" Oliver could see through me. And I hated that he could see through me.

"Yeah," I kept my guard up. However, my voice decided to crack on me, "Totally."

"No," he took my hand, "I'm sorry, darling, but you're not. I can hear it in your voice. You're miserable, aren't you?"

"No," I shook my head. Oh, no…Bad idea. Pull yourself together, Amy. You're fine, remember? As far as Oliver knows anyway, "I'm fine."

"Are you positive?" Oliver tried coaxing the truth out of me, but I was a steel trap.

"Yep," I decided to prove it to him and pushed myself up and out of bed. However, I wasn't expecting my asshole legs to give out on me and turn to pudding. With my wobbly stance betraying me, I fell back onto the bed. Shit…

"Yes," he helped me back into bed, "I'm sure you're feeling so much better."

"Wow, Oliver," I gasped, "Rare sarcasm."

"You're not going anywhere," Oliver ignored my sidebar comment and finished tucking me back into bed. I will admit, I've never felt cozier than in this bed, "I'm going to go get a few things for you. I won't be gone long."

"Oliver," I tried sitting up, but it was to no avail, "You really don't have to…"

There was no sense in fighting him. Whether I wanted it or not, I was getting whatever it was he was running off to grab. I wasn't sure what that was, but right now, I didn't care. I didn't have that kind of energy in me. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I was in my own private hell and I felt like shit. Maybe resting this one out wouldn't be such a bad idea. Instead of worrying about it, I shut my eyes and fell back to sleep. Almost instantly. Damn, body. What's gotten into you? Why did you decide to betray me? What have I ever done to you? Granted, I haven't made some of the most ideal life choices, but still. Why am I like this? Alright, I can just go back to sleep and pretend like I wasn't really sick.

A few minutes later, I felt a cool washcloth go over my forehead. Ok. That's nice. That's not worth me waking up. In fact, it's weirdly soothing. Maybe I was really running the same fever from last night. This was downright pleasant. And if I wasn't mistaken, I had another blanket go over me. Alright. Maybe me being sick wouldn't be so bad. Especially if Oliver knew how to take care of me. I wasn't going to complain. Everything was fine. That is, until things took a turn. Quite literally. In my sleep, I felt Oliver roll me over onto my side. And the waistband of my pajama bottoms had been pulled away from my body. OH HELL NO.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" I woke right up before anything could happen.

"Amelia," Oliver scolded me, "What have I told you about using language like that?"

"I'm about to run a fucking tab to the swear jar!" I squealed, "What the fuck were you about to do?"

"How else am I supposed to check your fever?" he argued, "You were sleeping. The chances of you keeping a thermometer in your mouth were slim. I needed to find another way."

"Going in through the back door sure as fuck isn't the other way!" I rolled over to the other side of the bed and reached into my purse, pulling a ten out of my wallet, "You can find a different thermometer because putting one in my ass is NOT fucking happening!"

"I can chalk this up to the fever," Oliver excused my string of profanity. Especially when I dropped the ten in his hand, "Alright, Amelia. No means no. I understand. Now that you're awake, I'll go get a different thermometer."

"Damn right, you will!" Am I going to have to start sleeping on my back now? Because I've never been one to sleep on my back. My side? My stomach? Yeah. But sleeping on my back hurt too much. My god…No means no. I may need a different adult. I understand that he's just trying to take care of me, but he could've woke my ass up before he resorted to drastic measures. I don't care how sick I am and how much rest I need. That is a _hard _no for me.

"Amelia," Oliver came back in with a different thermometer. Thank God. Because I was fully prepared to suppress whatever the fuck might have happened, "Open your mouth."

"My pleasure," I shuddered, trying not to think about it anymore, and waited for the beeps to go off. Relax, Amy. It's done and over with. And you can go back to sleep on your back.

"That's not good," he cringed at the number, "You shouldn't be at a hundred and two. We'll find a way to break your fever in a little while. Get some rest, love. Ok?"

"Ok," I made sure to lay on my back. Whatever that shit was wouldn't happen again. And if it did, I hope he knows I can bite. Really hard. A hundred and two, huh? That really isn't good. It'll go down. I know it will. That wasn't exactly unusual when I was sick either. I'd get a fever spike and then, within the next hour or so, it'd break. My body was a medical anomaly and no one really knew why or how. It wasn't a hereditary thing. It was just a me thing. All I needed was a little more sleep and I'm sure I'd be ok.

Although, along with those weird fevers came the even weirder fever dreams. I wasn't quite sure where I was, but everything seemed so big. Then, I came to the realization that it wasn't that they were so big. It's that I was so small. I saw my mom and dad off in the distance, but the closer I got to them, the lesser they looked like my mom and dad. They looked familiar, but I couldn't place why. But my mom and dad came up behind me and took my hand, dragging me away from the other two. I reached out to them, fighting my mom and dad tooth and nail, screaming, "No! Don't let them take me away! Don't let them take me away! Please! Don't let them take me away!"

"Amelia," I felt Oliver's arms around me as I snapped out of my horrible nightmare, "It's alright, darling. It's alright. I won't let anyone take you. You're right here. Everything is ok."

"Oliver…" I felt tears bubbling up in the back of my throat again. Right now, all I wanted was some sort of comfort. And fortunately, I had someone who cared right here, "How much did you hear?"

"I heard you shouting from downstairs," he held me against his chest, "You started thrashing around in your sleep. For a moment, I thought your fever got higher and you were having a seizure. But then, you woke up and here we are."

"That was awful," I tried shaking it, but that shit was sticking with me. If I could get my breathing to even out and my shaking to stop, I'll be fine.

"I'm sure it was," Oliver ran his fingers down the back of my arm, "But everything's ok. I promise. Why don't you come with me? We need to get your fever down and I've drawn a bath for you."

"Ok," I needed something to mellow my ass out. And where better to do that than Oliver's bathtub? It wouldn't be the first time and I knew damn well that tub had magical powers. It's witchcraft. It had to be. But a little time in Oliver's bathtub wouldn't hurt.

However, I didn't expect him to stick around to help me. My energy may have been nonexistent, but that didn't mean I was totally invalid. Still, it was nice of him to practically bathe me. He didn't have to do that. But given my recent nightmare, I didn't want to be alone. Fortunately, I wouldn't be in there for very long. By the time Oliver had me dried off and in clean pajamas, I was already back in bed and damn near back to sleep. As much as I wanted to, I think I could hold off on sleep until my fever breaks.

"Amelia," Oliver tucked me back into bed, "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten since we had lunch yesterday and your medicine will work better if you eat."

"I am kind of hungry," I nodded.

"I know," he kissed my forehead, "I'll go make you some soup. It won't take me long. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone."

"Ok," I nestled back down in bed. Alright. This whole sick thing sucks. That still hasn't changed. But I'm glad I had Oliver here. There's no way in hell that Reid would've ever done anything like this for me. He would've told me to suck it up and move on with my day. But I didn't have to worry about that. I just had to get better. That's it. But some soup would hit the fucking spot right now.

Because Oliver had me on strict bed rest, the sweetheart came up to my room with a bowl of hot chicken and rice soup in almost no time flat. For the first time all day, the smell of food didn't make me nauseous. In fact, I'd be more than happy to destroy that bowl of soup and I had all intentions of doing so. It'd be really nice if I could handle spicy foods right now. A couple shakes of hot sauce in that would soothe the soul, but chances are, throwing that back up would not be pretty for anyone involved.

"Thank you, Oliver," I sat up in bed, fully prepared to put something in my stomach.

"You're welcome," Oliver joined me at my bedside, yet again with a spoon in hand.

"If it's cool with you," I requested, wondering why the hell he wasn't letting me have my spoon, "I'd like to eat now."

"That's good to hear," he loaded up the spoon, "Open your mouth."

"I will," I assured, reaching for my bowl, "As soon as I get my spoon."

"Amelia," Oliver insisted, "You need to be reserving your strength, so you can get better. If you're hungry, then let me help you."

"Hold on," I thought this over. My fever may be fucking with my head, but I needed to know, "Are you saying you…want to feed me?"

"I wish you were feeling well enough to feed yourself, love," he pushed my hair out of my face, "But if this is the way it has to be, then so be it."

"I can still feed myself," I promised, still trying to get my spoon. To no avail.

"Amelia," Oliver took a spoonful of soup for me, "I'm not going to ask you again. Please let me do this for you."

Because fuck my pride or my dignity, right? I almost already had a thermometer up my ass today. But I was hungry. And he did want to help, "Fine…"

"Thank you," he fed me my first bit of soup. Goddamn, that was good. Yet again, a case of Oliver Kirkland's cooking never disappointing me, "See? Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Next thing you know, I'll be able to take your temperature while you're asleep."

"Not even as a joke." Sick fucking joke, too…Yikes…

"I understand," Oliver dropped it, continuing to feed me, "After you're done eating, I want you to get some more rest, ok? When you wake up again, I'll see if your fever's broken."

"And you'll make sure I'm awake, right?" I glared a hole through him.

"No need for the dirty looks, darling," he promised, "I'll make sure you're awake. I've already put the Vasoline away."

Well, at least he was going to make it easy on me, "Thank you."

"And when you wake up again," Oliver rounded up the last spoonful in the bowl, "I have a little surprise for you. I was hoping I'd be able to show it to you when you weren't brutally sick, but I'm sure it'll help make you feel better."

"A girl can hope," I finished my soup, sad to see it go. I'm sure if I asked him nicely, Oliver would bring me another bowl, but he'd probably feed me some line of bullshit like how I didn't need any more or it'll be too much for me to handle. And he's probably right. Instead, I sunk back down into my bed and shut my eyes for a little while longer.

I had to admit, though, the day off was nice. After having worked at the café for so long and having to deal with Reid for the last few years, I forgot what it was like to relax. Even when I'd have my days off or I'd go on vacation, I still couldn't fully unclench. For the first time in years, I had nothing to worry about. My brain had successfully turned off. Everything was good. Hell, I had a roommate that didn't cause me much for problems. New friends that I adored more than life itself. Life was good.

A little while later, I woke up to a soft humming in the corner chair. I looked over and saw Oliver just about to cast off his project, "There. All done."

"It looks nice, Oliver," I shoved my fist in my eye, still a little out of it.

"You think so?" Oliver held what looked like a baby's blanket quadrupled in size, "I like it, too. Did you have a good nap?"

"Yeah," I sat up, feeling a hell of a lot better than what I did this morning. Just as I thought, exhaustion probably caught up to me, "I'm not quite up to running a marathon yet, but I'm getting there."

"That's wonderful," he got up from my chair and offered me his hand, "Come here. I'd like to show you something."

"Ok," I could actually walk and not feel like the world was giving out under me, so I'll call that a win, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Oliver assured, "Amelia, how long have you been living here?"

"I'd say…" I thought it over, "Probably a month or so. Maybe a month and a half? Why?"

"Would it be safe to say you're here on a more permanent basis?"

"Well," I pointed out, "I do come here after work. And after class. And when I go out places, this is usually where I come back to, so yeah. I could say I've moved in."

"And yet," Oliver went on, bringing me to his bedroom, "You're still staying in my guest room."

"Yeah," I nodded, "Because even though I've moved in, it's still a temporary thing."

"But who knows when you're going to find another job?" he wondered, "Or when you'll be able to find a new apartment? Wouldn't you want something that felt a bit more permanent? Like it's yours?"

"Um…" I gave him a look, "Where are you going with this, Oliver?"

"Just…" Oliver took me to one of the mysterious doors in his room. Pretty sure it's a closet, "Open this door."

"Ok…" When I opened the door, it looked like Oliver might have been expecting. But last time I checked, he can't carry a baby. Maybe he was adopting and this was how he was going to break the news to me. Because this looked like a baby's nursery. That would explain his latest knitting project. The blanket was for her. That's understandable. And now, I know why I smelled wet paint. Because the fresh coat of a pastel pink covered the walls. It played off nicely with the white bed and the white glider in the corner and the various shades of pink flowers covering the wall. I feel like I've seen something like that before with Instagram models.

"Well?" he asked, waiting with bated breath to hear my answer, "What do you think?"

"It's really cute in here, Oliver," I took a good look around, "You did a nice job."

"Thank you," Oliver brought me over to the bed, "I'm glad you like it. Because it's yours."

Bitch, what? "Oliver…"

"I know it may be a bit much," he explained, putting me back into bed, "But in time, I'm sure you'll get used to it. But please, Amelia, get some more rest. While I'm thinking of it…"

Oliver went into a set of drawers and pulled out a bottle of pink liquid and a measuring spoon, "What are you thinking of?"

"You're due for another round of medicine," he carefully measured it out, "I'm sorry we've run out of the tablets. This should be much easier to take anyway."

"And what is it?" I asked.

"It's cold medicine," Oliver assured, "It's not like I'd give you poison, Amelia. Honestly, where is your head these days?"

"Sorry," I swallowed the most horrendous artificial bubblegum flavor I've ever had the displeasure of putting in my mouth, hacking on it a little, "I guess it's the whole being sick thing screwing with my head some more."

"That's probably it," he pulled the quilt over me and raised the barrier a little on the edge of the bed, "Get some sleep, sweetheart. Hopefully, you'll feel better in the morning."

"Hey, Oliver?" I stopped him before he could leave.

"What is it, darling?" Oliver stood in the doorway, "Is everything alright?"

"Thank you," I smiled a little, "For taking care of me today. My own mother wouldn't even have taken this good of care of me. I appreciate it."

"I was afraid you'd say that…" he mumbled to himself, quickly smiling back, "But never mind that. Get some sleep, Amelia."

"I will," I had no doubt in my mind that medicine he gave me would knock my ass out anyway. So, maybe if I just shut my eyes…But then, I felt a buzzing on my thigh. That's right. I put my phone in my pocket earlier when I got up to go to the bathroom in case I needed to tell someone I fell and hit my head on the toilet. I can put it on the charger in the morning. Besides, it still had a pretty strong battery. I wasn't expecting a text, yet here I was.

**Allen:**

_What were you up to tonight?_

_I missed you._

**You:**

_I've been sick and miserable all day._

_But I'll be fine._

_Just a bad cold._

_Good night, Allen._

I put my phone on the nightstand through the bar and shut my eyes. This whole being sick thing has kicked my ass more than I thought it would, but it's been nice to take a minute. Maybe I needed to get sick. Just so I could bring balance back to my life. Where better place to start than rock bottom?


	17. A Mad Tea Party

I don't know what the fuck Oliver juiced me up with before I fell asleep last night, but holy shit, it worked. Waking up with the ability to breathe again seemed like it'd never come. Holy hell, that sucked. On a more positive not, I felt a hundred percent better. We can chalk that up to a win. However, what I thought was a fever dream happened to be my reality. I finally had a more permanent bedroom here.

Although, it looked like…This. I had a bar on the side of my bed. Like the kind people get when their toddler is transitioning from a crib to a bed. If I didn't know any better, I'd think the dresser was a changing table. My closet was stuffed to the bring with more ruffles and bows in a pastel rainbow than one girl had a right to in a lifetime. I understood that Oliver wanted to give me nice things, but does he understand how old I am? Because I don't think he does.

Regardless, since I'm feeling better, I should probably go find a new job. Someone in town has to be hiring. At least I hope so. A good place to start would probably be the newspaper. Granted, the only people who pick it up nowadays are old people who hang out in fast food restaurants, taking advantage of their free refills on coffee. Still, they could manage to be a wealth of information for me in these trying times. Alright, Amy. Let's do this! I pushed myself out of my weird toddler bed and pulled myself together. Although, I did want to make a quick check of my phone. I know it needed to get on the charger. But I wonder if I got a text back from Allen last night after I went to bed.

Huh…That's weird. I'm almost positive I left my phone on the nightstand before I fell asleep. Because I said good night to Allen and told him what was going on. Then, I put my phone down on the nightstand. If that's t he case, then where the fuck did my phone wander off to? I checked the floor, around the bed, and even in the drawer, but I still came up short. Even in my old bedroom, it was nowhere to be found. That's not good. Maybe my roommate got a little carried away in his cleaning and moved it? That sounded likely.

I walked downstairs still in my pajamas and headed into the kitchen, keeping an eye out for my phone. Still nothing. Oliver wouldn't have taken it, would he? No. Oliver may be a weirdo of different proportions, but I don't suspect him for a klepto. Nevertheless, I sat down at the bar in the kitchen while Oliver was buried in the oven, pulling out a fresh tray of muffins. Damn, those smelled good. Then again, when doesn't Oliver's kitchen ever smell like Christmas morning?

"Morning, Oliver," I figured I'd break the ice this morning. He seemed preoccupied.

"Oh!" Oliver chirped, "Good morning, darling. I didn't hear you come down. How are you feeling?"

"Much, much better," I reported, "But you wouldn't have happened to see my phone, have you?"

"Can't say that I have," he shook his head, getting a muffin for me, "Sorry. Where did you see it last?"

"On the nightstand in my new bedroom," I remembered, "I'm pretty sure that's where I put it."

"Maybe you moved it," Oliver suggested, "But here nor there. Because I have something I'd like to share with you."

"Really?" I wondered, my foot nervously bouncing under the bar, "What's that?"

"I'm hosting a party tonight," he filled me in, "Well…I say a party. It's a small party. A few friends of mine are coming over and I'd like for you to join us."

"I live here," I pointed out, "And I don't really have much for plans today, so sure. I'll come."

"Wonderful!" Oliver draped his arms over me, "I'm so happy to hear you say that. Because I have some friends that I most certainly want you to meet. But tread lightly, love. When I say it's a small party, it's more like a support group. They're not all completely mental, though. Like I said, support group."

"For what?" I asked, "Please tell me you're not hosting the AA meeting tonight. I've lived with one alcoholic, Oliver…Well…Two, but that's here nor there. But I don't think I could handle another one."

"Who was the other one?" he jumped on the defensive.

"My dad," I brushed him off, "But he's also a recovering alcoholic. I digress."

"I'm not hosting AA," Oliver promised, "It's a different kind of support group. But it's not for any sort of addiction. Would you mind helping me set up today?"

"I'd love to!" I always had a knack for party planning. I have no doubt in my mind that Oliver does, too.

"Lovely!" he chimed, catching my excitement, "Go on then. Finish your breakfast and we'll be off. We still need to do some light shopping. A little house cleaning. And you…"

"Me?" I perked up, "What about me?"

"We'll get to that later," Oliver switched tangents, "Shall we then?"

"Ok…" Still not quite sure what that's all about, but I'm sure I'll find out later.

"By the way," he started cleaning up the dishes, "How do you like your muffin? I tried a new recipe this morning. Pinterest is such a naughty little thing."

"They're really good," I applauded, "But I don't see you as the type to be taking recipes from Pinterest."

"Why ever not, poppet?"

"It's like cheating for you," I explained, "You're so good at what you do that I thought you could just pull measurements out of your head."

"Oh, bless you," Oliver melted, "I can pull measurements out of my head, but sometimes, it's nice to have them written down for me as well. You should see my recipe box. It's truly a thing of beauty."

"Kind of like my world history notes," I giggled, "I totally get it. There's something in the organization that just makes your brain happy."

"Someone who finally understands!" he got up on the step stool and pulled down his recipe box. Sure enough, this was much more organized than my world history notes. Every recipe was written in a different color meaning something different. On note cards that were all different colors with their own meaning. By the looks of it, they're alphabetized by ethnicity, then by recipe, and separated by cooking method.

"My god, Oliver," I stared over them in complete awe, "And this is just your recipe box?"

"I told you," Oliver beamed with pride, "It's a beautiful recipe box. I can appreciate a well written out index card, too. But the convenience of Pinterest does help once in a while. Finish your breakfast, Amelia. Time is of the essence and we're going to need all we can get today."

"Alright, alright," I finished off my muffin and headed back upstairs. The prospects of a shower sent tingles up my body. Instead of using the guest bathroom, I figured I could use Oliver's. I mean, it's right there next to my closet. I might as well. Once I was all clean, I wrapped myself up in a towel and walked into my room. And my day kept getting weirder. A set of clothes were already laid out on my bed. No explanation, but a pile of pastel blue fabric covered my sheets. Despite how cute they were, I wasn't really feeling it today.

I poked my head back in my closet, still dripping wet from the shower, and looked for something else. In a perfect world, I'd check the closet in the guest room for something, but that would also mean running naked from my bedroom back to the guest room. Streaking was not in the cards for me, so I'd have to make do. Even if that means settling with the Alice in Wonderland looking outfit already on my bed. What the hell? That'll do. I looked myself over in the mirror, curious as to who the fairytale princess was staring back at me.

This sure as fuck wasn't me. Although, I'd be lying if I said I didn't look cute. Too cute. I was down for a pair of cut off shorts and a vintage t-shirt and maybe a jacket I found in a thrift store if things had gotten a little cold out (I was a sucker for a good bomber jacket, if we're being honest). But dainty sundresses like this and more tulle than God knows what to do with? Not for me. Maybe when I get a minute to myself while we're out today, I'll do a little shopping for myself when Oliver's not watching. Because I know damn well he's responsible for this.

I quickly blow dried my hair, not putting any sort of real effort into it, and ran back downstairs, only to find Oliver at the bottom, "Amelia, you look so cute!"

"Thank you," I forced a smile on my face, "But I'm not so sure about it."

"Why not?" he whined, "It suits you so nicely. It's much better than what you used to wear."

"But I like what I used to wear."

"And you don't like this?" Oliver awed, his eyes turning sad. And it broke my heart. I couldn't handle that.

"It's not that," I stumbled over my words, "It's just…It's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

"I thought so, too," his smile returned. Oliver offered me his hand, "Shall we?"

"Yeah," I nodded, graciously accepting.

This was nice. It was a beautiful day outside. We only had to go a couple blocks to get to the store. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to sneak away for that. That's ok, though. He had a point. I looked cuter than hell and I couldn't be mad at that. Or at him. All the while we walked through the grocery store, he wouldn't let go of my hand. I missed this. It's the strangest thing. I didn't realize how much I missed this until I finally had it again. Oliver had given me so much since I showed up on his doorstep that night. And I couldn't possibly begin to thank him for it.

As we stood at the checkout, I figured it'd be a good idea to grab a newspaper. That way, I can see if someone's hiring. In all honesty, though, I kind of didn't want anything to take away from the time I've had off. Being able to get some decent sleep at night without worrying about getting to work on time, doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. It was nice. And spending the extra time with Oliver wasn't too bad either. Regardless, all good things must come to an end.

That was the thing about the local newspaper, though. Every time I looked at the cover, it was always something depressing. Even now, the headline reads: Local missing man found dead. Cheery shit, right? I don't know why I expected today to be any different. They know that print media is dying, yet they still carry on. I respect their tenacity, but they need to know when to throw in the towel. Let's just see what happened to the local missing man.

_Twenty-five year old Reid…Logan…_

Wait a minute…No. There's no way that's the same…It's a different Reid Logan, I'm sure.

…_was found at the bottom of the East River, six miles from town, still buckled into his car's seatbelt. Police found several bottles of assorted alcohol in the backseat and signs of blunt force trauma to his head. At the time of printing, the coroner's report has not been released to the press._

No…As much as I didn't want them to, tears began to well up in my eyes and my voice broke, "Dammit, Reid…"

"Amelia?" Oliver turned around, "Everything alright, love?"

"Do we really need to throw that party tonight?" I shook, the paper rattling in my hands, "I'm not in the mood."

"What's the matter, darling?" he caught the tears rolling down my cheeks, "Talk to me. Where are all the tears coming from?"

"It's Reid…" I wept, "He…he died."

"Oh…" Oliver immediately grabbed our bags, keeping a hold of my hand. Good. Because if he wasn't holding on, my knees would probably have given out and buckled under me, "I'm so sorry to hear that, Amelia…Come on. Let's go home."

"Ok." Reid, you fucking dumbass. You promised me you were going sober. I told you that once you did, you could come back to me and we could start with a clean slate. All I asked was that you got some help. I saw it coming. I knew this was how it would end for him. If only he would've listened. If only I would've been more adamant about it. But I left him. I left him when he needed me most. When we got home, Oliver sat me down on the couch and brought out some tea. It smelled like chamomile. But I didn't want tea. I wanted this guilty feeling to go away. Why did I have a feeling I've been in this position before?

"Do you know how it happened?" Oliver asked, treading lightly.

"He got a little too drunk," I took a heavy sip from my tea, "Drove his car into the river. I don't know why I'm surprised. It was only a matter of time before his stupidity got him killed. Wallowing over it isn't going to bring him back. But if that's the case, why do I feel like I'm holding the smoking gun?"

"No, no, no, sweetheart," he moved over to my side of the couch, wrapping his arms around me, "You didn't tell him to start drinking. You certainly didn't tell him to drive himself home."

"I didn't even know he was missing," I curled into his shoulder, "But there must have been something I could've done."

"You've been doing for so long, Amelia," Oliver cradled me, "But it's a shame he never noticed how much you were doing. Are you going to be ok?"

"Don't get me wrong," I confessed, "Toward the end of our relationship, I really was starting to hate him. But there was a little part of me that held onto hope. I really thought me leaving him was going to be the wake-up call he needed to clean himself up. I thought he would've stopped for at least that. But I guess I wasn't that important to him. That doesn't mean I wanted him dead, though."

"You shouldn't be left alone tonight," Oliver decided, "Come with me. We still need to get you ready for tonight."

"Oliver…" I let out a heavy, tired sigh, "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, but I don't think I'm in the place to be meeting new people."

"I already told you, Amelia," he pointed out, "It's not exactly a party. It's a support group. And the last place you need to be right now is holed up in your room. You're not alone. I promise."

"Fine," I didn't have it in me to meet new people tonight. But even more so, I didn't have it in me to fight Oliver. I didn't even remember going from the living room to Oliver's bathroom. In a way, I was completely vacant. Nothing but an empty shell. News of Reid's death hit me harder than I expected it to. I figured that if Reid were to die in an accident like this, then it would've been like finding out my first grade teacher died. Yeah, it sucks, but I'm not exactly going to lose sleep over it. This was different, though. I'm sure I could be seen and not heard tonight. At least I hope so.

By the time Oliver was done, I caught a glimpse of what I looked like. My messy short hair was gently tamed into soft little ringlet curls slightly pushed back by a thick, white headband. My eyes were framed by long, thick eyelashes that I'm almost certain weren't my natural ones. The glow in my cheeks hid the splotchy redness crying put on my face. And my lips were swollen enough to give the light pink gloss its spot to shine. This wasn't right. This wasn't me.

"Oliver…" I winced, "I don't think you understand. I'm not the fairytale princess you want me to be."

"What do you mean?" Oliver wiped his hands off, finishing his top buttons on his shirt, "Of course you are. And you look great. You have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried," I clarified, "I'm…artificial. And it's not right."

"Amelia," he took a few deep breaths as if he was holding something back, "I need you to behave yourself this evening. I shouldn't have to worry. I understand you're going through some difficult times, but there's no sense in wasting your time worrying about someone who wouldn't dare do the same for you. Now, everyone is downstairs waiting. We shouldn't keep them any longer."

As much as I wanted to stay upstairs and make myself look normal again, I didn't have much of a choice. Pitching an absolute shit fit sounded like a plan, but Oliver already seemed like he was a timebomb. Instead of making more trouble for myself, I stayed quiet. I'm not exactly happy about coming downstairs, but I'd suffer in silence. Damn, we had quite the group here. These guys looked like they had served prison time and weren't afraid to go back.

There were three of them. One looked like he didn't just serve prison time, but he was nobody's bitch. He looked like a gang leader, but not small time. Another looked like he was half asleep. I bet he was a pickpocket. And he could possibly work for the first one. The third one seemed out of place. He seemed more like Oliver. Like sunshine only wrapped in a big scarf instead of pastels. He sat quietly by himself with a little smile on his face.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Oliver sat me down on the couch and looked toward the pickpocket, "Xiao…Xiao…? Can someone check him for a pulse please?"

"I got it," Gang Leader stepped in, putting his fingers on the pickpocket's neck, "He's alive. How unfortunate."

"Kuro," Oliver settled him, "That's not nice."

"And?" Gang Leader rolled his eyes, yelling at the pickpocket, "Xiao!"

"Shénme?" the pickpocket grumbled, opening his bloodshot eyes a little more.

"Wakey wakey," Gang Leader gave him a kick to the shin, "Oliver's pissed."

"Kuro," Oliver put a jar with assorted bills in it in front of him. I bet that ten in there is recent, "And Xiao, look at me."

"What do you want, Oliver?" the pickpocket could hardly keep his eyes open and his head up. I've seen that a time or two before. Oliver pulled a little pen sized flashlight out of his pocket and shined it in the pickpocket's eyes, making him wince, "Oh, what the hell, man? What did I ever do to you?"

"What have I told you about showing up to these meetings high?" Oliver rolled his eyes, "What is it this time? Cocaine?"

"Opium," Pickpocket told him while Oliver rolled up his sleeve, showing off the track marks on his arm, "It's fun stuff. Let me cope. What are you getting so bitchy about it for anyway? You didn't have a problem when Fran…"

"Enough!" Oliver snapped, immediately calming himself down in the next breath. Then, he caught a glimpse of Sunshine sitting across from me, studying my face closely, but with subtlety, "Ivan? What are you doing here? Where's Viktor?"

"Hello, Oliver!" he smiled, giving him a wave, "Viktor said he'd rather polish nuke than come to this meeting, so he sent me instead. Although, I'm pretty sure he wasn't talking about going to his weapons storage since his cable bill was over fifty-seven thousand rubles and there were a lot of x's on that statement."

"Thank you, Ivan," Oliver cringed, letting this Viktor guy's porn problem go unchecked. And he said this wasn't a group for addicts. So far, we got one guy who sent a proxy just so he could stay home and beat off and another guy who's currently strung out on opium. Hell of a mix, "You might as well stay. You'd be as good as any as a replacement Viktor. Is this really everyone?"

"We could send stand-ins?" Pickpocket came to again, "Aww! That's not fair, Viktor!"

"Focus, Xiao," Oliver ordered, "I know that's difficult for you right now, but we still have business to attend to. Kuro?"

"Nani?" Gang Leader…or should I call him a yakuza boss? Because I got the feeling that's what Kuro is.

"Have you heard anything from Luciano or Lutz today?"

"No," he shook his head, "I don't keep tabs on those two. And before you ask, I don't know where Flavio is either. That's probably for the best. Annoying little brat. I thought Luciano was bad…"

"Oliver?" the sweet one, Ivan chimed in, "Who's your friend?"

"Yeah," Pickpocket, or Xiao lifted his head, looking me over, "She's cute."

"She's why we're all here this evening," Oliver explained, "This is Amelia. I found the last one, gentlemen. It's time."


	18. Mutual Friends

I was what? I didn't understand why Oliver introduced me to these people like this, but whatever I was, I was the last one. And it was time. Am I meant to understand this? Probably not. But I think I know someone who may have answers. God knows there's no fucking way Oliver's going to tell me what the hell he's talking about, but I bet when I go to class next, I could talk Allen into taking me to see Francois again. I don't care if he's going to fly off the handle again. I'm sick of being kept in the dark about everything.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, the front door flew open. If I didn't know any better, I think a trail of glitter followed our new friend. However, the room remained unmoved and a rather flamboyant man strutted his way in, "What have I missed? Let's be honest. You all missed me."

"Hello, Flavio," Oliver greeted him, "Please sit down. Is your brother and his paramour joining us this evening?"

"Nope." Flavio, huh? He looks like a Flavio.

"Why are you late?" Oliver asked, keeping a scarily level head, "I told you eight o'clock, did I not?"

"Sue me," Flavio rolled his eyes, "Drag Race was on. I sure as hell wasn't missing that because you called."

"Flavio…"

"Fine," he groaned, throwing some money in the jar in the middle of the coffee table.

"You didn't strike me as the type to be into drag races," Oliver brushed it off, "Still, I wouldn't call it a viable excuse to miss one of these meetings."

"I don't think he was talking about that kind of drag race, Oliver," I gave him a nudge. Whoever this Flavio guy was, I think I like him. Out of everyone here, he might be my favorite.

"Who's the overgrown porcelain doll, Oliver?" Flavio got a good look at me. Alright. The jab was unnecessary. I may not like him as much, "Did someone get a new little?"

"She's not…!" Oliver calmed himself down in the next breath, "This is Amelia. Amelia, this is Flavio. Normally, I deal with his younger brother, but if we're comparing the two, Flavio is much more pleasant to deal with."

"Grazie," Flavio took a bow. Ok. He's still my favorite.

"Amelia is a very special little girl," Oliver continued on, taking the opportunity to gush over me, no doubt, "She's definitely bargain worthy. We'll call her our leverage."

I didn't like that. I didn't like that a single bit, "Oliver…?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Are you…" I didn't want to know the answer, but I needed to ask, "Are you _using _me for something?"

"What?" Oliver gasped, wrapping his arms around me, "No, no, no. Of course not, love. What gave you that idea?"

"Well," I pointed out, "You called me leverage, so that sounds like you're using me."

"No," he cradled me, reaching down into the candy dish on the table, "Here, darling. Have some chocolate."

"Ok." Oliver did make some damn good chocolate. It's not like I could say no.

"Now," Oliver continued, his tone taking on a much sterner quality, "She's off limits to all of you. She's my little angel and she's going to stay that way. Do we understand?"

"Fine," Kuro allowed.

"Whatever," Flavio ignored it altogether.

A light snore came out of Xiao, who had completely fallen asleep sitting up. Oliver shook his head, "Can someone make sure Xiao's alive?"

"I got it!" Ivan put a hand on Xiao's shoulder, "Wakey, wakey, Xiao!"

"I'm up!" Xiao snapped out of his mini coma, "What? What do you want?"

"Nobody's allowed to touch doll face except for Oliver," Flavio filled him in.

"I woke up for that?" Xiao groaned, drifting back to sleep.

"Xiao," Oliver scolded him, "Promise me you'll keep your hands off her."

"Yeah, yeah," Xiao waved him off, "No touchy touchy. Got it."

"Thank you," Oliver relaxed a little more, "Amelia, why don't you let the grown-ups talk alone? Ivan, keep an eye on her."

"Okie dokie!" Ivan got up and took my hand.

"Wait," I stopped him, "Why can't I stay here?"

"Because," Oliver pointed out, "You have a new friend. And it'd be rude if you were to leave him alone. Go on."

"Alright…" This guy seemed kind of…well…simple. I could probably get a little bit of information out of him if I asked really nice. It's bullshit that Oliver thinks I need to have a babysitter now, but I'll call it an opportunity. Ivan and I made our way into the den off the kitchen, far enough away from the party in the living room. Something about this guy seemed almost unsettling. How the hell was he so cheery? It wasn't like Oliver's brand of cheeriness. This seemed kind of unnerving. Like…A sadistic kind of cheery.

"I'm so happy to meet you, Amelia," Ivan beamed.

"You can call me Amy," I insisted, "Everyone else does. Except for Oliver."

"Can I tell you something to make you feel better?" he offered.

"Please," I allowed.

Ivan moved a little closer to me, keeping his voice down, "Alfred told me you went by Amy, too."

"Wait," my heart stopped, "You know Alfred?"

"Da," he nodded, "And I have message for you."

"What did he say?" I wondered, waiting with bated breath. Come on, Alfred. Come through for me.

"He says hang in there," Ivan reported, his joy relentless, "And he sends his love."

"That was nice of him," I was hoping for something a tad more useful than him saying hi, but I digress.

"You know," he sat across from me, "When Alfred described you, I expected to see someone else. Something completely different."

"Yeah," I grumbled to myself, "But Oliver happened…And loss happened…"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ivan's smile fell, "Who was it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"My ex-boyfriend," I told him, "It hit me in a way I didn't think it would. I found out from reading the newspaper in line at the grocery store this afternoon. How shitty is that?"

He got up from his chair and hugged me tight, wrapping me in his big ass coat, "I hope he is in better place, Amy. Really, I do."

"Thank you, Ivan," I reveled in the genuine, heartfelt warmth. Maybe a little too much. My eyelids were having a hard time staying up. Before I get sick again, I should probably go to bed. After everything that's happened today, I was fucking exhausted. Ivan's coat wasn't exactly helping the cause either. It's so warm and comfortable, "I know Oliver told you to watch me, Ivan, and I appreciate your friendship in these trying times, but I'm tired as hell and I'm going to bed."

"That's ok," Ivan let me go, "If you'd like, I could give message back to Alfred."

"Not to be that skeptical bitch," I let out a little yawn, "But how do I know you won't run and tell Oliver?"

"Because," he promised, "I'm in regular contact with Alfred and Oliver has no idea. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Tell Alfred I send my love, too," I relaxed a little. Maybe I have an ally here after all, "And if I need him, I'll let him know. But for now, I think I got it handled."

"Ok!" Ivan was starting to find himself on my favorites list. The rest of Oliver's friends were kind of assholes, but Ivan was an absolute sweetheart and I adore him.

I left him in the den and headed toward the living room. It's too bad there wasn't an alternate route to the stairs. That way, I could quietly sneak to my room and Oliver would be none the wiser. The assorted murmurs in the living room rumbled louder and louder with every step I took. Not enough for me to make out what they were saying, but enough to know they were still here.

"You let me worry about him," Oliver's voice stood out from the rest.

"Are you sure you can handle it, Oliver?" Kuro asked, almost as if he were insulting him.

"Are questioning my integrity, Kuro?" Oliver growled.

"It's not that," Kuro clarified, "You were close once, Oliver. You can't deny that. I'm just wondering if it's your head or your heart making the decisions these days."

"If I can't handle my own…" Oliver caught me out of the corner of his eye, "Amelia…What are you doing in here? What is it, darling?"

"I'm tired," I leaned against the wall, "I'm going to bed."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Oliver got up from his chair, "Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. I'll be back shortly."

"Take your time," Flavio scrolled aimlessly through his phone. I wish I could do that. Mine was still missing.

"Come now, poppet." Oliver took my hand and led me upstairs to his bathroom. Wait a second…I'm pretty sure I said I was going to bed. I'm too tired for the other bullshit, Oliver. But I had a feeling deep down that if I were to say something, he'd either yell at me or dismiss it altogether. So, I sat on the stool from under the vanity and let Oliver wash my face. Good call on his part, too. Between the mess on the pillowcase and the mess my skin would be in the morning, I didn't want either of those.

Then, like any other night, Oliver tucked me into bed. My comfortable, overgrown toddler bed. In my very soft pink room. I don't want to sound ungrateful. I'm sure Oliver put a lot of time and effort in here. Not to mention, he's never made me pay a dime of rent since I moved in, so I'll call that a win. But…When he said this was my room…None of this feels like me. None of what he's done for me has felt like me. Although, I bet if I find a black Sharpie around here, I could make a few improvements.

"So, Amelia," Oliver broke the silence between us, "What did you and Ivan have to say to each other?"

Aside from his message from Alfred and more sympathies for Reid than you've given me? No…Amy…Don't be bitter. I'm sure his crisis counselor instincts could sniff that shit out from a mile away. And that's further conversation I don't need and/or want to be having today, "Not very much. I wouldn't call the guy much of a conversationalist."

"I see…" he spoke softly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was pissed, "You're not lying to me, are you, Amelia?"

Shit. Suppress, Amy. Suppress, "Of course not. I have no reason to lie to you, Oliver."

Smooth, Amy. Very smooth. It was enough to get Oliver off my scent, so I'll call that a win, "Good."

"Oliver…" I played up the innocence a bit, showing him exactly what he wanted to see, "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, darling?" he took the bottle of face cream out of the nightstand.

"What was tonight all about?" I wondered, pressing my luck, crossing my fingers in hopes of getting some answers out of him.

"Just invited a few friends over," Oliver stayed cryptic, "We had a few things we needed to discuss. We had them handled. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Now, you've had a long, busy day and you need to get some sleep, ok?"

"Yeah," I nestled down into my blankets, "I will."

"Good night, love," Oliver kissed my forehead and pulled the quilt over me, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night," I shut my eyes shortly after Oliver killed the lights.

Alright. Tomorrow, priority one: Find my phone. If I find my phone, then the world opens up again and I can go back to being a functioning human. Then, I can try finding a job, go to class, and live another day. Still…My heart hurts. I needed a hug. Like the one Ivan gave me, but longer. Much, much longer. Reid…I was holding out for you. I really thought you were going to get sober and we could get back together and pretend like none of the previous ugliness in our relationship ever happened. I was hoping it wouldn't end this way. Reid's death piled on top of Oliver's secret keeping and everything Francois has told me…It's a lot. More than what I need to handle. I'm heartbroken, confused…Who do I trust? Who don't I trust? What do I do? I think sleep deprivation is getting to me. I just need to shut my eyes and go to sleep. In the morning, everything will be better. At least I hope so.


	19. British Empire

I will never get used to waking up in this room. The sickening amount of pink and the flowery bullshit in here was too much. Really and truly, I needed to find a Sharpie and give it some other flavor in here. More pressing matters for today's itinerary. Find my phone. When I do that, I'll go find a job. And I'll do that until it's time for me to go to class. There. Simple as that.

"You have it all wrong!" Wait…That was coming from downstairs. I only heard Oliver viciously angry like this once. Color me curious. I sat in the doorway of Oliver's bedroom and listened.

"You can't keep her like a pet, Oliver." Oh…You're different. You sound like Oliver, but if Oliver were more salt than sweet.

"I'm not keeping anyone," Oliver argued.

"Yes, you are!" Salty snapped, "And it's only a matter of time before she realizes that."

"You know…" Oliver got quiet. Scary quiet, "Even those in the shadows crave the warmth of the sun."

"Not like this…"

"I know this may be difficult for you to understand," Oliver stood his ground, "But she came to me. She's staying entirely of her own volition. I'm not forcing it."

"Well…" I heard footsteps coming from the living room toward the stairs. Maybe I should get a look at this guy. And when I did…Holy shit.

This guy even looked like Oliver, too. It's scary. He's a dead ringer for Oliver. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were twins. If this guy wasn't covered in layers of neutral tweed, he'd be Oliver. Did Oliver have a brother I didn't know about? Maybe it's like Francois and his twin brother. Nevertheless, they were coming toward me and I needed to stay out of sight.

"Well, nothing," Oliver brushed him off, "It was lovely seeing you again, but I'd appreciate a fair bit of warning next time you show up. That way, I could have something prepared. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing business to attend to. Good morning."

"Oliver, please…"

"I've already said what needed to be said," Oliver snapped, "Please leave before you wake her."

Shit. I should probably get back to my room before Oliver comes up here. I crawled back into my bed, not quite falling back to sleep. Just as I thought, Oliver soon appeared in my doorway. He's been through enough this morning. Instead of giving him grief, I gave him a little smile, hoping to ease the tension in the room, "Good morning, Oliver."

"Good morning, darling," he sat at the edge of my bed, pushing my hair out of my face, "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," I moved a bit closer to him, "But can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Oliver allowed, "What is it?"

"Who was that downstairs?"

His face went completely blank. But just as I was expecting him to blow me off, Oliver actually gave me an answer, "He's a bad man, Amelia. I want you to stay away from him. Did you see his face?"

"No," I lied through my teeth, looking at that very same face, "I just heard the yelling downstairs."

"I'm sorry, love," Oliver pulled me into his lap and cradled me in his arms. Whoever that guy was, he really got to Oliver. I've never seen him so freaked. But as quickly as I noticed, he shook it off, "What should we do today, Amelia? We have a whole day to do whatever our hearts desire, just the two of us."

"Well," I pointed out, "I still have to find my phone. Unemployment doesn't suit me. But I have a class tonight, so if we could take care of both those things beforehand, that'd be great."

"Do you really have to go to class tonight?" he whined, "Or find a new job?"

"Oliver," I laid my head on his shoulder, "Don't get me wrong. This has been great and I can't begin to thank you for everything you've done for me. It's just that…I need to do things for myself, too."

"But Amelia," Oliver traced his fingers down my spine. If he's not careful, I may end up falling back to sleep, "Things are so good just the way they are."

"I know…"

"So, we shouldn't ruin them," he cut me off, quickly changing the subject, "Why don't we get you dressed?"

"Ok." Looks like I pushed a little too hard. I'm not getting any more out of him.

"Go wait in the bathroom," Oliver got up from my bed, "I'll find something for you."

"Ok." On my way to the bathroom, curiosity got the best of me. I knew what was in my nightstand drawer. What would someone like Oliver Kirkland keep in his nightstand? I doubt that I'll find any porn or shit like that. Although, when I opened the drawer, I didn't expect to check something off my to-do list so soon. What the hell was my phone doing in here? As much as I wanted to grab it, I left it in the drawer. I know where it is and I can score it later. If Oliver finds it on me, he'll know I was poking around somewhere I wasn't supposed to. I'll be back for you, my friend. Before Oliver knew a thing, I ran into the bathroom.

"We should go out today, Amelia," Oliver suggested, "If you were going so stir crazy, all you had to do was tell me. Anywhere you'd like to go in particular?"

"Anywhere?" I perked up. Something tells me if I mention job hunting, he'll just bitch at me. And I'd rather not deal with that.

"Anywhere you'd like."

"Let's go to the thrift store!" I squeaked, ready to jump out of my skin. Oliver said anywhere I wanted. And anytime he's decided the two of us were going shopping, he's always picked where we go. I'd never go into most of the places he's dragged me to, so why not bring myself back to Earth? Besides, I needed to get out of my head for a while.

"A thrift store?" Oliver winced, "Really? You don't want to go somewhere a little…cleaner?"

"I do wash my finds, Oliver," I assured him, "Eighty percent of my wardrobe came from a thrift store."

"I knew I didn't like it for a reason," he mumbled to himself.

"It's so much fun!" I begged, "Please?"

"Well," Oliver unfurled the cute, white sundress he had picked out for me, "I suppose since you asked so nicely…"

"Yay!" I chirped, taking my dress, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower and get a little less gross and then, we can take off."

"Do you need any help, love?" he offered.

"I think I got it handled." I know it wouldn't be the first time he's seen me naked, but those were also times when I didn't have much of a say in the matter. Regardless, I kicked Oliver out of the bathroom and did exactly as I told him. I was a big girl and managed a whole shower all by myself. How ever did I do it? I get it. Oliver wants to be helpful in any way he can, but he needs to understand that I can do things on my own, too. I'm a functioning adult, dammit!

When I got out and my hair was a sopping wet mess, I gave it a quick towel drying and looked myself over. Some of the natural curl was poking through. Dammit, I can be so fucking adorable. But alas, I knew Oliver would bitch about my wet hair. It wouldn't be the first time. It was short enough to where it'd take me no time to dry, but Oliver swore by old wives' tales. Going out when my hair was still slightly damp would not kill me, nor would it make me sick. When it came down to it, either getting bitched at or spending the extra few minutes with a blow dryer, I'll take the latter. Besides, Oliver's already outside his comfort zone for my sake anyway.

It was only a few extra minutes. If I do it, that means Oliver doesn't feel the need to do it for me. Kind of like when he picks out my clothes for me. Or when he makes me eat breakfast even when I don't want to eat. Or when he got me off caffeine and I felt like shit for a few days. Or when he shows me off to his buddies only to (I'm assuming) talk to them about me when I'm out of the room. Something tells me if I were to tell him about how warm and loving Ivan's hug was (and, if we're being honest here, sorely needed), he'd lose his fucking mind.

But I digress. Because now, I could finally get back to feeling like me again. I skipped down the stairs and met Oliver at the bottom, "I'm ready."

"Why, yes, you are," Oliver melted, much like every other time when he sees me. He took my hand and led me down the last couple steps, "Adorable as ever, poppet. Now, are you sure you want to go to the thrift store? There are so many better places we could go today. The park, the art museum, the library…"

"I'm sure," I nodded, "I love the thrift store! It's one of my favorite places in town. They know me by name there. At least I think they do."

"Alright," he let it go. Oliver got his hand sanitizer out of his pocket. Oh, yeah. Oliver's dreading this. But he's doing it anyway. It's Hot Topic all over again. He's just being dramatic.

By the time we got there, Oliver had somewhat calmed down. I could tell, though. Oliver was still uneasy about all this. Not as bad as Hot Topic, but I knew if he had his way, we'd be out of here already. I had to do something. His skin's going to start peeling off if I'm not careful. I just needed to put this in Oliver terms. Something that would be easier digestible to him. Something to make this a less hellish experience for him.

"Oliver," I approached him gently, "Are you doing ok?"

"Me?" Oliver perked up, "Yes. Quite fine. Why?"

"Are you sure about that?" I saw through the bullshit, "Because it's fine if you want to leave."

"And take away something that makes you so happy?" he shot me down, "No. I couldn't do that to you, Amelia. It wouldn't be right."

"Think of it this way," I wrapped myself around his arm, "This is just like going antiquing. The only difference is that instead of it being, say, an eighteenth century tea set you find in here, it's a horrible sweater that no one in their right mind would buy in today's day and age, yet there's something special about it and you buy it on impulse."

"I'm glad that you have something you feel so strongly about, darling," Oliver pulled me closer, "And if you can see the good in it, I can try to see the good in it, too. It's not my ideal way to spend an afternoon, but that's what makes it an adventure, isn't it?"

"That's the spirit!" I sang, "And the best part about this particular thrift store is that you never know what you're going to find. I remember one time I came in here. I found a giant promotional figure of a pickle for a farm somewhere and because I had the extra forty dollars in my pocket that day, I brought him back to my apartment. My god…That was before I started seeing Reid. I wonder whatever happened to that pickle. My old roommate and I used to dress it up on Halloween. Nine times out of ten, he'd be wearing a cowboy hat covered in sequins. Why? I don't know."

"You lived a strange past, Amelia," Oliver giggled a bit, "Who knows? Maybe I'll find something in here myself."

"You just need to find your pickle figure," I insisted, "In fact, they do have a section full of figurines. But that's not even the best part. The novelty collector glasses are usually pretty good, too."

"Show me."

Did I make a believer out of Oliver on the idea of thrift stores? I'm not quite sure. I did get him to look, though, so I'll call that a win. Not to mention, it managed to help me find my center again. Before I met Oliver…Hell, even before I met Reid…It was nothing for this to be a weekly thing. Every Saturday, I'd come into this thrift store and peruse the wares. Sometimes, I'd get something. Sometimes, I wouldn't. But I didn't care either way. Because everything in this store had a story behind it. A few marks here and there could give more clues as to where it came from. Yet it found itself in here, waiting for someone to take it home. And it was a great spot to look for some really weird shit. I loved it so much.

Shortly after we left, though (with a foxy grandma glass and a little music box), the weather decided to take a turn. Despite the blue skies and the sunshine when we left, rain poured down over us. Fortunately, it was only a sprinkle when we left. However, by the time we reached the front porch, it was practically a monsoon. Not that it was a bad thing. I loved thunderstorms. And when I go to class tonight, I'll really be able to appreciate it. The building my history class was in happened to have a tin roof. Even though there was a floor above us, I'd still be able to hear it.

"Why don't you go change out of your wet clothes, Amelia?" Oliver sent me upstairs, "I wouldn't want you getting sick again."

"Ok." One man's cautionary tale is another man's golden opportunity. I knew I wasn't going to find anything in my closet that remotely felt like me, so I could leave my fashion choices on the back burner for now. I seem to remember a certain cellular device in Oliver's nightstand drawer that did not belong to him. Granted, the time without it has felt rather liberating, but it's time for me to get it back now. Chances are, it's deader than shit, but it's a good thing it charges quickly.

But when I got my hands on it again, the screen lit up. My lock screen was unchanged. Everything was still in its place. Out of instinct, I checked all of my messages. My voicemails were quiet, my emails were nothing but the usual junk, and my texts…My text messages were where it all went wrong. Because by the looks of it, I was still getting texts. And still sending them while my phone was missing.

**Allen:**

_Are you busy tonight?_

**You:**

_Yes._

**Allen:**

_Ok._

_What about tomorrow night?_

**You:**

_I don't want to do anything with you, Allen._

_Please delete my number._

What the hell? I never told him that.

**Allen:**

_What do you mean?_

_Amy, talk to me._

_Please._

_What did I do?_

**You:**

_I don't need your negative influence in my life anymore._

**Allen:**

_Are you ok?_

_You don't sound like you._

**You:**

_This is her father._

_You are not to contact her any further._

Excuse me? I haven't seen my dad since Oliver and I went to dinner at my parents' house. I'm pretty sure he didn't have my phone.

**Allen:**

_Really?_

_Why don't I believe you?_

**You:**

_That's not my problem._

_Leave her alone._

**Allen:**

…_Oliver?_

**You:**

_So…_

_You figured it out, didn't you, Allen?_

_You always were rather clever._

**Allen:**

_Where's Amy?_

**You:**

_Honestly…_

_Didn't I raise you better than that?_

**Allen:**

_I'll ask again._

_Where…_

_The fuck…_

_Is Amy?_

**You:**

_Always with the mouth, Allen…_

_Amelia is fine._

_She doesn't need you tampering her mind._

_You're to never contact her again._

**Allen:**

_She's her own person._

_And I can talk to her if I goddamn well please!_

**You:**

_You know…_

_It'd be nice if you came around again, Allen._

_I do miss you._

**Allen:**

_Not a fucking chance._

_You don't miss me._

_You miss having me under your thumb._

_Fuck off._

**You:**

_Please, Allen…?_

_Just once?_

_Or twice?_

_I miss both you and Matthieu._

**Allen:**

_The mere thought of you gives me a panic attack._

_Matt can barely keep from killing someone._

_You left Francois a drooling mess._

_Fuck._

_Off._

_Oliver__._

Oh my god…He was right. Allen was right all along. Francois was right. This was who Oliver truly was. The question is why was he hiding it from me? I needed to find out. I changed out of my white dress into a mint green one and grabbed my bag. My legs felt like they were going to give out on me, but I had to keep moving. Despite how badly I wanted to, I could not let Oliver see me cry. Hold it together, Amy. Hold it the fuck together.

"Amelia?" Oliver came out of the kitchen, "Where are you going, darling?"

"I…" I could hardly talk. Shake it off, Amy. We talked about this, "I have to get to class."

"No…" he wrapped his arms around me, "You can't go."

"I have to," I slid out of his embrace.

"But Amelia…" Oliver whined, holding onto my hand, "I'll miss you."

Someone else misses me, too. If you had your way, I'd never see him again. But that's not happening. I held it together and slapped a fake smile on my face, "I'll be back later, Oliver. I promise."

"Well," Oliver sighed out, "Alright. Don't be out too late. I'm making a nice dinner and I'd hate for it to go to waste."

"Ok…" And just like that, I ran out the door. Fortunately, the rain slowed down enough to where I wouldn't be soaked to the bone once I got there. Right now, I didn't care about my history class or how pristine I kept my notes. I just needed one thing. And I hope to God that Oliver didn't fuck that up beyond repair for me.

"Amy…?" Allen's voice shook me to my very core. Without a further thought, I threw myself into his arms and bawled my eyes out, "Uh…This is weird…I'm not used to a girl crying on me. Shit…There, there…I'm sorry, Amy. I'm going to need some context if I'm going to help you. Talk to me, doll. I'm right here."

"You were right," I sobbed, drenching Allen's shoulder.

"What was I right about?" he worried.

I didn't want to admit it, but it was true, "Everything…"


	20. American Revolution

After class, there was no way in hell I was going home yet. I wasn't in the place for it. Fortunately, I had an accomplice. Even better yet, I had a friend. I needed one of those. Severely needed one of those. And I couldn't ask for a better one that had some idea of what I was going through than Allen. He took my hand and the two of us started down the sidewalk. It looks like Alfred's not picking him up tonight.

"Hey, Amy," Allen wondered, "Does Oliver know you're staying out late tonight?"

"No," I shook my head, "And you know what? I don't care. Fuck it. He said he wasn't using me, but I know damn well he has something in mind. He wasn't telling me what that was, but I know there's something."

"He's not here," he pointed out, "It's just you and me."

"It makes me wonder, though," I thought, "How many more lies has he told me since I walked through that door? He's already taken my phone from me."

"I know," Allen shuddered, "I got to find that one out the hard way."

"I'm sorry," I winced, "I thought it was on my nightstand when I went to sleep, but when I woke up, it was gone."

"It probably was on your nightstand," he pointed out, "Oliver's got some sticky fucking fingers."

"Really, though, Allen," I quivered a bit, "I really am sorry about that."

"No, no, no," Allen threw his arm around me, "That's not your fault. None of this is."

"Are you sure?" I scoffed, "No one forced me to move in with him. I could've moved in with anyone else. Hell, I could be living with you."

"No," he shook his head, "Trust me, Amy. You don't want to live with Matt and me. Especially on the days where Francois decides to fly off the handle. If you ever tell anyone I said this, I will beat the shit out of you."

"Lips are sealed," I promised.

"But you're physically safer with Oliver than you are with me," Allen admitted, "In a perfect world, you'd already be living with Alfred. But it's ok. Or at least it will be."

"Thanks, Allen," I was already feeling like shit. But this? This wasn't too bad.

"Hey," he asked, "Are you busy tonight?"

"I don't know," I thought it over, "Oliver said not to…"

"Fuck him," Allen brushed me off, "I'm not talking to Oliver. I'm talking to you. Are _you _busy tonight, Amy?"

"No…?" I spoke softly.

"With more certainty!"

"No!" my voice got stronger.

"That's my girl!" Allen gave me the most vigorous high five I've ever had. Holy shit, did that bitch have after sting from hell, "What do you say that you and I go out tonight and make some bad decisions?"

"Yes, please!" I nodded, "I could use some bad decisions."

"Well…" he looked me over, "As much as I love your enthusiasm, you're not going out to make bad decisions like that…"

"What do you mean?" I checked myself, "What's so bad about how I am?"

"You look like some pervert's wet dream," Allen pointed out, "Or like you're going to your first day of kindergarten. If we're going to make some bad decisions, we need to make one right one first and that's get you out of that and into something less…Oliver's influence. Come on. I got a friend who can help."

"Ok," I was in the mood to make some bad decisions. Who knows? Maybe screwing around with Allen might be fun. In fact, I could almost bet it would be. Only one way to find out. I followed Allen to the parking lot where Alfred's car was parked. With no Alfred, "Allen?"

"Yeah?" he vaulted the door, getting nestled into the driver's seat.

"Is our first bad decision me being an accessory to grand theft auto again?"

"You read me like a book, Amy," Allen smirked, "Come on. Get in. And it's not grand theft auto. I promise. I did ask Alfred this time around. He knows I have his car and he's ok with it as long as I bring it back with a full tank and no scratches."

"Fine," I got in the passenger's seat and made myself comfortable.

And so, our night of horrible decisions began with a drive downtown. I didn't make it a habit to come this way too often. Downtown could get kind of sketchy if someone didn't know where they were going. I trust Allen, but the fact that his friend lived down here had me a tad concerned. Find a happy place, Amy. Find a happy place.

"Hey, Amy," Allen parked in the parking structure for this beautiful loft building, "The guy we're going to meet…He's Francois's cousin. He can be a little catty, so take him with a grain of salt.

"Got it," I kept my head about me. Although, I wasn't sure how to feel about looking as innocent as what I do in a dirty place like this. It's like putting a sheltered kid front row at a Slayer concert. I'll be fine. I hope. If all else fails, I can throw down. I had no doubt in my mind that Allen can, too. In fact, I knew damn well he was a scrappy little shit. We'll be fine.

When we walked into the building, Allen brought me up to the top floor and knocked on the door. My grip on his hand tightened up, "Hey…It's alright, Amy. Relax."

"Ugh…" the door opened and a small man stood on the other side. He looked kind of familiar, but I don't think we've ever met, "What do you want, Allen?"

"I need to see your brother," Allen ordered, "Tell me he's home."

"Why?" the man asked, purposefully making things difficult.

"Come on, Luciano," Allen groaned, "I don't have time for this shit. I need to see him and I need to see him now."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes and cranked his neck back, "FLAVIO!"

"Che cosa, fratello?" a familiar face skipped to the front door, "Allen! Oh…And the tacky brat from Oliver's place."

"Excuse me?"

"You missed the meeting, Luciano," Flavio chirped, "The girl is staying with Oliver."

"Is she now?" Luciano looked me over like I was a piece of meat I don't think I'm into that.

"No," Allen shielded me, "Luciano, no. Not like that."

"What do you want, Allen?" Flavio asked, "Don't you have Lutz half asleep and tied up in your bedroom, Luciano?"

"Oh yeah," Luciano remembered, "I should probably take care of that, yeah?"

"You wouldn't want a project, would you?" Allen offered.

"Yes, please!" Flavio sang, "I've always thought you'd be fun."

"No," Allen shot him down, "Not me. Amy.

"Huh?" I was off in la la land somewhere. I'm pretty sure someone said my name.

"Really?" Flavio looked me over, not quite with the same hunger as his brother, but with something different in his eyes.

"As long as you promise me," Allen stipulated, "You're not going to run and tell Olly we were ever here."

"Oh?" Flavio wondered, "A little bit of teenage rebellion, Allen?"

"Both of us," I stepped in, "Things aren't exactly as sunshine-y and rainbows as what they looked last night."

"Alright," Flavio nodded, stretching his hand out to me, "I won't say a word. Come here, tesoro. You let Uncle Flavio take good care of you."

Why did I get that feeling…? The same one I'd get when Oliver would tell me he was going to take care of me. Although, I got a feeling this is going to end with entirely different results. I shot a quick look over at Allen. He gave me one little nod of reassurance and that was all I needed, "Ok, Flavio. Do your worst."

"Oh, I could never," Flavio clutched his chest, "I'm almost insulted!"

When I walked into Flavio and Luciano's loft, I wasn't sure what to expect. This place was huge! And tastefully decorated, too, I might add. Definitely not the doily that Oliver's house was. But we weren't there anymore, were we? That's right. Oliver wasn't here. Maybe Flavio had it right. Even when I was younger, I never really had much of a rebellious streak. My parents didn't really allow much for wiggle room. Alright, Oliver. You wanted to call yourself my father when you were texting Allen. Well, your little girl is about to hit her teenage years. And it's not going to be pretty.

I sat in Flavio's closet and watched him skim through racks full of different styles of clothing. Every color, every pattern, every shape, nothing was left out. Flavio pulled out some tight, short dresses that put me in a state of slight unease. I hope he didn't expect me to fit into those, "What do you have dresses in your closet for, Flavio?"

"Life's too short for gender roles, mio amore," Flavio explained, "But if you don't think this bitch can't rock a tight leather skirt and a killer pair of heels, you're sorely fucking mistaken. Fashion is an art of expression, Amelia. And occasionally throwing one of these on does my dating life wonders. I dug into my personal stash of secret weapons for you. And I don't do this for just anyone."

"And I really appreciate it," I looked over my choices with a concerned feeling in my heart, "But don't you think they're a little short?"

"Uh, yeah?" Flavio gave me a look, "That was the idea. My god, Allen. What did you bring me? How broken does Oliver have you?"

"Flavio," Allen growled, "Don't you ever fucking call her broken again or the only thing broken here is going to be your fucking jaw. Do you understand?"

"Somebody's bitchy today," Flavio brushed him off, "Fine, fine. If you're not ok with how short they are, Amelia…"

"Amy…" Allen corrected him.

"Then, I guess I can find you some leggings in here, too," Flavio moved a little further into his closet and opened up one of the drawers, "Ooh! These look like fun!"

"What are these?" I wondered, letting Allen cool off in the corner.

"Here," Flavio handed me a garment bag and a pair of fishnets, "Go get dressed. You want something that says you're out to make some bad decisions? That's the way to go."

"Is this one of those things," I walked into the bathroom, "where one of those bad decisions is going to lead me to asking for a ride to the clinic?"

"Depends on where you and Allen are going tonight," Flavio figured, "Where would our den of sin be tonight?"

"I don't know," Allen thought it over, "You got anywhere in particular you're wanting to go tonight, Amy?"

"Not really," I opened up the garment bag and all I saw was leather, "What the fuck, Flavio?!"

"What?" Flavio squeaked, "Trust me, Amy. I know what I'm doing."

"By the looks of this," I pointed out, a tad mortified about what I'm seeing, "Allen and I are going to an S&M club!"

"Excuse me?" Allen perked up, "What did you give her, Flavio?"

"Don't 'what did you give her, Flavio?' me," Flavio stood by his decision, "Someone said she wanted to make a few bad choices tonight. The first one being her sudden rebellion against Oliver. The second being coming here with you. And the third being asking me for help. Now, Amy, I highly suggest coming out and showing that to me or I will never help you again. And that will be bad decision number four."

"I don't know how I'm going to get in it," I still wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Do I put it over my head? Do I step into it? Do I wake up from whatever fever dream this is? How the fuck should I know?

"Do you need some help?" Flavio offered.

"Maybe?"

"Then let me in the bathroom," he knocked on the door, "I promise I'm not a pervert."

"That's rich coming from you," Allen scoffed.

"Says the guy that hit on his own brother the first time they met," Flavio retaliated.

"That was an accident!"

"What was that?" I wondered, both concerned and a little disgusted.

"I didn't grow up with Alfred," Allen explained, "When I first met him, we were probably…Sixteen? I had gone out with Matt that night and…Well…I saw Alfred. I thought, this guy's cute. I wonder if he's seeing anyone. Lo and behold, I find out he was there looking for me the whole time. And then, I'm thinking, holy shit, this guy's here for me. But how the hell would he know who I was? While Matt and I were growing up, Oliver always told us how we had a twin out there like how Francois had Uncle Francis and how Oliver had Uncle Arthur. But…"

"Arthur…" I cut him off, "Tell me more about him."

"I only met him a couple times," Allen told me, "Why the hell would you want to know about that prick?'

"I think I saw him earlier today," I let Flavio into the bathroom and let him play with the buckles on this weird ass dress, "Does he look almost identical to Oliver?"

"The only major difference is that Arthur dresses like a grandpa?" Allen asked.

"Yeah!" I squeaked. So, that was Oliver's twin, huh? No wonder he got so heated, "Wait…Is he really as big of an asshole as you say he is?"

"Well," Allen mulled it over, "I say he's a prick. But he's got his moments where he's a pretty good dude. Arthur's just a little high strung for my tastes. That's all. Why?"

"Because," I spoke softly, "Oliver told me to stay away from him. Because he was bad man."

"Nah," Allen assured, "Arthur's alright. In small doses. The same can be said for Francis. Granted, neither one of them are much my cup of tea, but they're alright. He's not a bad guy. If anyone's the bad guy, it's…Well…Let's not go down that route tonight. Tonight's meant to be fun. If I wanted to talk about how fucked up my upbringing was, I'd go to my therapist. It's been a while since I saw her. But still. Here nor there. Actually, one day, Amy, I want you to meet Arthur and Francis. I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

"Why do you say that?" I wondered as Flavio started strapping me in.

"There are certain things about who you are," Allen winced, "Some things that Oliver's keeping from you, but if I tell you…It's one of those things that could make you completely lose your shit and your brain will turn to mush. Besides, it's better you hear it from either Alfred or Mattie once you get to meet him. I'm sure he'll adore you, too. Alfred won't shut up about you."

"Dio mio, Amy," Flavio swooned, "Oh, if I were into women, I'd take you right here and now. You want to see? What am I saying? Of course you do. Mirror's in the closet."

"Ok." But that meant leaving the safety of the bathroom. And I was practically naked. No. It's like Allen said, Oliver's not here. I'm here to make some bad decisions and fuck shit up. And if that means traipsing around town like the slut I used to be, then so be it! Maybe it was time for her to come back out. It has been a while and that wasn't who I was in the light anymore, but…I got something I need to get out of my system. And in order to do that, I needed to get a little something, something in my system. Besides, if we're being honest…I'd much rather be Flavio's doll than Oliver's.

"Hey, Amy," Flavio offered, "Are you thirsty?"

"In more ways than one," I nodded, "What are you pouring?"

"I don't know," Flavio left the bathroom, pulling me out with him, "I'm thinking a good merlot. How do you feel about red wine?"

"You got anything stronger?" I asked.

"Holy shit, Amy…" Allen got an eyeful of me, "You weren't kidding when you said S&M club."

"What?" I looked myself over in the mirror, understanding his metaphorical nosebleed a little better, "Oh…Yeah."

Damn, Flavio…You did a good job. I didn't expect this skintight black leather dress to fit me, but you managed. I'm sorry if I'm stretching it out, but I'm not exactly a little girl. But holy fuck, I look good. Allen sat down on the futon up here, "Now, I get when Flavio said if he were into women…You look incredible."

"You think so?" I bit the inside of my cheek, suppressing a smile, "I do, don't I?"

"You look fucking hot, Amy," Flavio approved, handing me a glass of wine. I did ask for something stronger, but anything that'll give me a buzz, I guess, "And I'm not even done with you."

"Then, let's keep going," I threw the contents of my glass back like a shot and put it down on the table, "I don't have all night. And God only knows when Oliver's going to send out a search and rescue party."

"He wouldn't rally a party together," Allen explained, "He'd go looking himself. Just himself. Trust me. Take it from someone who would run away from home regularly when he was younger."

"Really?" I wondered. Don't get me wrong. Allen always had that bit of rebellion going for him, but I didn't think he actually went through with some of it. Then again, I couldn't really blame him. I'm practically doing the same thing.

"Yeah," Allen kicked his feet up on the coffee table, "It would usually end up with Oliver grounding me, but Francois would always come through and let me do whatever, so it never stuck."

"I miss Francois," Flavio sighed out, digging a brush out from under the bathroom sink, "How is he doing these days, Allen?"

"He's Francois," Allen shrugged, "Is he ever really going to be…good? By normal standards?"

"It's worth hoping, isn't it?"

"Maybe one day," Allen stared up at the ceiling, "But for now, he's Francois. He went into an episode the other day when he met Amy."

"I can understand why," Flavio plugged in his straightener, "But it didn't get…Violent, did it? You didn't have to call someone?"

"Matt was home," Allen told him, "So, I had all the muscle I needed. He did restrain himself, though. When I got back home, he seemed pretty docile. Although, I did have to pull out the big guns."

"No!" Flavio gasped, "You called Francis?"

"I threatened to call Francis," Allen clarified, "And that's all it took. He got pissed, yeah, but it got him to settle down awfully quick."

"You know that's dirty, Allen," Flavio scolded him, "What if someone were to use Alfred against you?"

"What if someone used Lovino against you?" Allen retaliated.

"If you can get close to him without needing a tetanus shot afterward," Flavio giggled, "Good luck."

"Who's Lovino?" I wondered.

"My twin brother," Flavio awed, "He's a scrappy little shit, but I still love him. Kind of like Luciano, but without the homicidal tendencies. If Luciano had more flair for the dramatic, he'd be Lovino. But deep down, Lovi's a sweetie. Especially if you get him around Antonio. He's practically a kitten in Antonio's lap. But if you saw Antonio, you'd understand. Anyone could turn docile in those big, beautiful arms of his. The thought of falling asleep in them puts me in a good place…"

"I can see that good place, Flavio," Allen cringed, shutting his eyes tight, "I understand that skinny jeans are comfortable, but they don't leave much to the imagination. Settle down."

"Sorry," Flavio grabbed his phone off the counter and scrolled through his pictures, showing me the screen. And the beautiful Spaniard plastered on it, "That's Antonio."

"Hello," I took his phone from him while he ran the brush through my hair, "And this is your brother's boyfriend?"

"Oh, yeah," Flavio swooned, "That's my brother's boyfriend. But swipe over one more and you'll see mine."

"Ok…" I slid my finger across his phone screen. He looked just like Antonio but without the muscle tone and more…I don't know…Tragic. Flavio's boyfriend looked like a French film in a human being. Not quite sad, but…I don't know. Melancholy. That's a good word for him, "You did well for yourself, Flavio."

"Thank you," Flavio took his phone back, "Don't get me wrong. Antonio's pretty to look at, but…There's something special about Andres, too. Like when we're in bed at night and everything's all quiet…"

"We don't need to hear about what goes on in your bedroom, Flavio," Allen shut that shit down as soon as he could.

"We're not the bedroom you need to be worried about," Flavio went back to straightening my hair, "That's downstairs. I've never met a couple so perfect for each other in that regard than Luciano and Lutz. One's a sadist, one's a masochist. A match made in Hell, but let them have each other. Lutz keeps Luciano from killing people, so we'll call that a win."

"If we didn't need to hear about you and Andres," Allen cringed, "We really don't need to hear about Luciano and Lutz."

"Aww," I teased him a little, "What's the matter, Allen? I didn't have you pegged as a prude."

"I'm not a prude!"

"I like you," Flavio draped his arms around my shoulders, "Oh, Amy…It's too bad Oliver has a hold of you. I feel like you and I would be best friends."

"Oliver's not here," I reminded him…and myself, "And who's stopping us from being best friends?"

"Your actual best friend," Allen chimed in, showing off the half a popsicle pinned on his jacket, "That's what this says anyway."

And much like that popsicle in the summertime, my heart melted, "Allen…"

"Aww…" Flavio followed suit, "You two are so cute. If you were more Allen's type, I'd say for you two to get together…"

"No!" Allen cringed, "Flavio! No! Bad!"

"Oh, yeah," Flavio let that go, "I forgot all about that. We really should finish you up, Amy. I'm almost done."

"Yay!" Because my ass was going numb. It felt like we had been here for hours. And all so Allen and I can go out and have a little fun? It seemed excessive, but then again, Flavio was excessive incarnate. Allen was right. We were out to make some bad decisions tonight. Why not start with Flavio?

By the time he was done, I looked like a full-on call girl. Black leather on top, black flats on the bottom, and a bright red lip to bring it all together. Hot damn, I looked like I was out to get laid tonight. And maybe I will. Maybe I'll have a casual one-night stand for the hell of it. Maybe I'll try cocaine. Who knows? Anything's going tonight. Down to try anything once. However, I'm not quite sure how I felt about the need for a photoshoot…

"Hey, Flavio," I did any pose he asked of me, "Is there a reason for this?"

"You're damn right, there is!" Flavio continued snapping pictures, "You are my fucking masterpiece, Amelia, and this needs to be documented. You are absolutely perfect right now and these are going to be framed in black and white on my wall. You are my fucking artwork and I love you."

"I…Love you, too?" I giggled, seeing spots from that damn flash. Jesus Christ, Flavio…

"Alright, Flavio," Allen put a stop to it, "You've got enough."

"Come on, Allen," Flavio begged, "Please? Just a few more?"

"No," Allen took his jacket off and covered me with it, "You're done. Amy, you ready?"

"I'm ready," I nodded, "This is the first time I've felt like an adult in a month. You know what, Allen? I think I know what I want to do tonight."

"What's that, Amy?" Allen asked.

"I want to go out and be an adult," I decided, "I want to go sit and drink in a bar for the first time in fucking forever. Possibly walk out of said bar with a couple numbers. Then, we can call it a night. Is that alright with you?"

"Hell yeah!" Allen high fived me with the greatest enthusiasm, "Let's do it! I mean…I don't really drink that much, but I'm not going to stop you."

"Aren't you as straight edged as they come, Allen?" Flavio finished putting his camera equipment away.

"For the most part," Allen nodded, "But that's a me thing. If it's not a her thing, then it's not a her thing. That's fine by me. It's not my decision."

"It's no fun to drink by yourself," Flavio pouted, "Am I going to have to join you?"

"No," Allen shot him down, "That doesn't mean I can't break a little just for tonight."

"You may be more Francois than Oliver, Allen," Flavio jabbed.

"You know what, Flavio?" Allen rubbed his eyes, "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, tesoro," Flavio pulled him to his chest, kissing the top of his head, "You two go ahead and make bad choices."

"Will do," Allen took my hand, "Come on, Amy. Let's get going."

"Thank you, Flavio," I smiled sweetly.

"Anytime," Flavio sent us out, "Go, go…Get out of here. You crazy kids…Go live your lives the way Oliver wouldn't want you to."

"Our pleasure," Allen gave him a sarcastic bow.

And just like that, the two of us headed out. We were ready to make those bad decisions. That first one being pulling up to the first bar we found. It looked just the right amount of sketchy where I might catch something, but I might not catch something. That was the dice we were rolling tonight. Maybe I'll get a tattoo of something stupid for kicks! Like the words 'Spring Break '97', even though it's well past '97. And I wasn't even drunk yet.

"So, Amy," Allen pulled out the barstool for me, "What's your poison of choice?"

"Whiskey," I ordered, "Jack. Large quantities. If you would, please."

"You know what?" Allen waved the bartender down, "Two Jack and Cokes, please."

"You, too?" I gave him a look, "Didn't Flavio say you were straight edge?"

"He also said it was no fun drinking alone," he retaliated, "You and I are going to sit here, toss back whiskey, and have a good time."

"Fine by me."

And we did. One whiskey turned into two. And two turned into three. Three turned into six...Six turned the fucking world upside down. I had no intentions of getting wasted, but I knew damn well I wasn't going to feel good tomorrow. But right now, I didn't give a single fuck in how tomorrow was going to be. For the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, I was back to being me. I finally got my one night of fun and stupidity I needed after Reid and I split up, but I couldn't have it because I was too busy worrying about where I was going to sleep that night.

"Hey…Ames…" Allen stumbled off his stool, "There's no fucking way either one of us is driving home. I'm going to go to the back and call Alfred, k?"

"Ok," I let him go, "Tell him…Tell him he's got a fantastic ass and that it goes on for days. Whose birthday party is he going to with all that cake?"

"Jesus Christ, Amy," Allen laughed, "You sound like me when I first met him. Don't worry. You'll figure it out soon enough…And how fucking weird that was. I'm not telling him he's got a fantastic ass. That's my…hic…That's our brother. Why would you tell him he's got a nice ass? Fucking weirdo…"

I watched Allen walk into the back and I ordered another drink. God knows I didn't need another one, but what the hell? I wasn't driving back tonight. But then, I felt a man's hand on my shoulder, "Amelia Williams?"

"Yeeeees?" I cranked my neck back, looking over this delicious piece of man in blue, "Hello…Where did you come from?"

"I need you to come with me," the man demanded.

"Where are we going?" I wondered.

"I'm taking you home," he explained, taking handcuffs off his belt.

"That does not look like you're taking me home," I flirted, "So, are we going back to your place?"

"It'd be a good idea for you not to hit on me," he shot me down.

"Oh!" I gave him a nod, "So, you're like Allen! Hold on. He'll be back in a second."

"No," the man brought me out to his car. Yeah…I don't think this is him taking me to have his way with me. In my brief moment of lucidity (that may or may not have happened as I got into the back of his car), it dawned on me. Am I seriously getting arrested right now? I haven't done anything. I just had a few drinks with a friend. Is that a crime now? And I can't even tell said friend that I just got arrested! Sorry, Allen. But still, send Alfred my love. Because I know damn well he's going to come pick you up.

"Hey," I leaned up to the driver's seat, "Can you turn on the radio? I'm in the mood for some jams."

"Sure," he allowed. At least I got a good cop. Sometimes, the cops that would bring Reid home like this were total assholes. Although, I knew Reid brought that on himself most of the time. He scrolled through the radio until I heard a familiar lyric that hit me in the fucking on switch.

_We got to hold onto what we got._

_It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not._

_We've got each other and that's a lot for love…_

"WE'LL GIVE IT A SHOT!" I screeched at the top of my lungs, "OH! WE'RE HALFWAY THERE! WHOAAA! LIVIN' ON A PRAAAYER!"

"Ok," he turned off the radio, "That's enough of that."

"Aww…"

A few minutes later, the cop pulled up to the good old home sweet home and helped me out, "Come on…"

"Got it, chief," I leaned on his arm and stumbled up the stairs. I need to go to bed…Before I...

Nope. Too late. I leaned over the railing and spilled my guts in a rosebush. Oops. The cop helped me back over before I flipped into it, "You ok?"

"I've been better," I wiped my mouth off as he knocked on the front door, "Shit…No. I don't want to wake Oliver up. Just let me go in on my own."

But that was too late, too, "Thank you, Officer."

"No problem," he gave Oliver a nod, "Just…Keep her inside."

"That was the intention," Oliver brought me inside. And I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. My ass was about to be sufficiently chewed, "Bed. Now."

And because my rebellious streak had come to a screeching halt when law enforcement had to get involved, I made my way upstairs. Slowly, but surely. I mostly bear crawled up the stairs, but I managed to get into my bedroom and into my bed. My eyes only got heavier the cozier I got. I'm surprised my ass was still in one piece. I would've thought Oliver would've torn it to shreds by now.

He came into my room with a warm washcloth in his hand and took off all of Flavio's hard work, "You have no idea how worried I was about you, Amelia."

"I'm sorry…"

"You thought you could run off on me like that…" Oliver's tone got dark. Like…Scary dark. When he was done washing my face, he took off Allen's jacket and got up from the edge of my bed, "We'll discuss this more in the morning. Right now, I want you to go to sleep."

"Yes, boss…" Shortly after that, I closed my eyes. And I wasn't opening them back up until tomorrow.


	21. Hungover Storytime

**A/N: Hi, guys. So, it seems the world is going to hell in a handbasket these days, yeah? We'll get through it, though. Isn't that the strength of the human spirit? Well, since we're all holed up inside, I'm going live on Instagram sometime today. My IG is lumiolivier. I'll tweet out when I go live ( MsLOlivier). I have no idea what I'm going to be doing, but it'll be nice for us to just hang out, you know? Now, I'm going to let you get into this week's chapter, yeah? Cool? Neat.**

Pain…So much pain. I would take the hell of being sick again over and over if it meant not being hungover. At least when I'm sick, I don't have to blame myself for my stupidity from the night before. Looks like I don't have it in me like I used to. When Reid and I used to go out when we first started dating, we could go out at night, get completely obliterated, and go to work the next morning like nothing happened. But now…I feel icky.

I wanted to stay in bed. The thought of going back to sleep sounded downright pleasant. With the exception of this throbbing fucking headache. However, my stomach had other plans for me. Oliver spent all that time working on this room, but he didn't think to put a trash can in here? I got up from my bed and sprinted into the bathroom, so I could throw up profusely. This fucking sucks. I should've stopped after my first three. Normally, I could control myself. But I just got carried away.

I got up from the floor, steadying myself while the room spun around me. No. I am not throwing up again. Once was plenty. I drudged back to my bed and buried myself in the blankets. The curtains were closed. The lights were off. My blankets were the warm hug I needed. All I needed now was to shut my eyes. Just a little sleep and I'll feel better when I wake up…

"Good morning, Amelia…" Fuck.

"Mmm…" I let out a little groan, "Could you please keep it down?"

"I'm not happy, Amelia." If I didn't know any better, I'd think Oliver spoke louder out of spite.

"Oliver," I sunk deeper into the blankets, doing my best to suppress the sound, "I'm already hungover. Can we not do this right now?"

"We are." Shit, "You've brought this misery on yourself, darling. One would think you would stay away from alcohol, given your history. Do you know how many new phone numbers are in your contacts?"

"No," I poked my head out of the nest, "How do you?"

"It hasn't stopped ringing since noon." What time was it now?

"I found my phone in the strangest place," I sat up, "What would it be doing in your nightstand, Oliver?"

"What were you doing in my nightstand?" Oliver wondered, sitting at the edge of my bed.

"Looking for my phone."

"And you can have it back the next time we leave the house," he ordered, "After the display from last night, we won't be going anywhere for a while. I'm very disappointed in you, Amelia. I expected better from you."

Why were his words so biting? Not five minutes ago, I was ready to tear Oliver a new asshole for taking my phone. But…The fact that he said it out loud I disappointed him…It hit me weird. And it broke my heart. I needed to not have Oliver pissed off at me. I cuddled my head into his lap, "I'm sorry, Oliver. I just…I needed to blow off some steam."

"You could always come talk to me, poppet," Oliver pointed out, "Goodness, I have training for that sort of thing. I couldn't lose another one. My heart couldn't take it."

"What do you mean?" Just when I think Oliver isn't going to tell me anything, it sounds like I'm going to get the other side of the coin.

"Amelia…" he put his arms around me, "How would you like it if I were to tell you a story?"

"Sure," I insisted, "I'd love to hear it."

"After you've had a bath first," Oliver's face scrunched up in disgust, "You still smell like whiskey and cigarettes. How does that sound?"

"Fine." It's not like I'd have a say in it anyway. I was on Oliver's shit list enough. However, with a little more ass kissing, I should be back in his good graces in no time. Besides, he was a sucker for this cute little face. No matter how bad she fucks up.

And…Well…I don't care how miserable I was feeling. I'd have to but a fucking idiot to say no to Oliver Kirkland's bathtub. Or his cooking, but my stomach says no. For now anyway. I sat at the edge of the bathtub, waiting for it to fill up, watching Oliver drop a mixture of salts and oils into the water. It was almost just like when I was sick and he was trying to get my fever to break. He did everything for me from washing my hair to my body with the most delicate touch. If I wasn't careful, I was going to fall back asleep in this bathtub. Then again, it did have magical powers. Maybe what he was putting in the water was his way of practicing modern day alchemy. Whatever it was, it put me in a good place, so I'm not complaining.

When I got out of the bathtub, Oliver dried me off and put me in a soft pair of pajamas. These were different from the other ones he got for me. These were yellow, but not an obnoxious yellow. A gentle yellow. They had little ducks on the pocket. If I were five, I'd be all over that, but as a hungover adult with nearly an additional two decades on that, I didn't care. As long as I wasn't completely naked, I was good. Oliver brought me back into my bedroom and sat the two of us in the big rocking chair in the corner.

I cuddled into his shoulder, ready to fall back asleep. Bedtime? Maybe bedtime. Whatever it was, it got Oliver to smile, "Comfortable, love?"

"Yeah," I laid my head on his chest, "I'm good."

"Are you sure you want this particular story, Amelia?" Oliver worried, "It's not exactly an easy one to hear…or to tell."

"It's ok," I nuzzled my face in his chest and laced my fingers through his.

"Alright then," he cradled me gently, "I might as well start at this beginning. Long before you and I ever met…Do you remember earlier when I told you I had special training to handle your venting?"

"Uh-huh…"

"And how when we first met," he added, "I told you how I had taken a first-aid class once or twice?"

"Yeah," I nodded, my eyelids getting heavier. No. Amy…Stay awake. I know the thought is tempting, but you need to stay awake for this.

"Long before we met that night," Oliver went on, "I used to work at a crisis center. It was my job to help anyone who walked through our doors. Whenever we'd have a particularly difficult case, mostly the ones who were court ordered to be here, they'd usually get sent to me. And that was fine. I didn't have a problem with it. And I always liked a challenge. However, there was one day where we had the most difficult case to date. A man walked in, still half drunk, possibly a bit high on whatever chemicals he had put into his body. I figured he'd be another one court ordered. But I found out he was there on his own volition. Normally, people were forced to come to us. It wasn't often they were ever here willingly."

"What happened with him?" This smells like Francois. This definitely smells like Francois.

"He had gone through three other counselors before he was sent to me," he continued, "If you ask me, he should've been sent straight to me before anyone else. He made one of them cry. One of them ended up quitting after him. But then, he came to me."

"And was he the difficult one?" I knew damn well it was fucking Francois, "Did you do it? Did you make him feel better?"

"I did worse," Oliver hid a little smile, "He didn't make me cry in the way that he made one of my coworkers cry. Which, he did apologize for later at my insistence. He was tragic. He was broken…But he was beautiful. And all I wanted to do was take him home with me. But we had an unspoken rule to not get personally attached to a case. I couldn't help it, though."

"You?" I gasped, "You, of all people, broke a rule?"

"I know," he chuckled to himself, "My one act of rebellion and I'm still paying for it. But I did, in fact, take him home with me. I listened to his plight while he was still in my office. It's not like he had anywhere else to go that wasn't a park bench or an abandoned building. I wanted nothing more in my life than to help him. Him in particular. He had something special about him. I didn't know what it was, but there was something there. I had gut instincts sharper than a tack. But later that evening, I brought him back here, made him dinner, gave him a place to sleep for the night."

"What was his name?" Like I didn't already know.

"Francois…" Oliver let out a heavy sigh, "His name was Francois. I didn't know it at the time, but after dinner, I finally got him to open up a little more. When he walked into the crisis center, he was on the verge of suicide. Things were only getting worse for him. He drank himself into a dark, downward spiral and he was just…constantly sad. And it broke my heart. I had to do something about it. I couldn't let this continue. Much like it was when I first met you. Only maybe you weren't as severe. But also much like you, I let him move in here. I showed him more and more that life was definitely worth living. Little by little, as the months went on, I'd catch him smiling. Things were getting better for him. And for me. However, I didn't expect to fall in love with him like I did. But even stranger yet…He fell in love with me."

"That's so sweet," I awed, "What happened after that?"

"I could tell you the exact words he said when he proposed," Oliver giggled, "He said, 'do you want to get married or whatever?'. And that was as close to romance he ever got."

"So?" I wondered, "Did you get married or whatever?"

"We did," he melted inside, his embrace tightening around me, "That was…Not nearly as magical a day as I thought it'd be. I knew that Francois wasn't one for pomp and circumstance and I made sure to accommodate that. Although, the joke that he told me before we actually got married was a bit disturbing. He said that it was the first time he willingly had gone into a courthouse and it wasn't for a hearing. Then again, the same could've been said for when we met, so I guess in hindsight, it was appropriate that our marriage would begin the same way our relationship would."

"So…" I never thought Francois would be the romantic type. Although, I had a feeling his brother would be. That seems to be the way it goes with them. Francis and Francois. Oliver and Arthur. Alfred and Allen. Flavio and his brother Lovino. I hadn't even met Matt's twin, but I had a feeling they were the opposite of each other, too, "Then, you two got married. What happened after that?"

"We were married for a year before we adopted our boys," Oliver went on, "In fact, considering the leather jacket you came home in last night, I think you may know one of them. If not both of them."

"Where is that jacket?" I asked, "I'm sure he wants it back."

"If he wants it back," he stood his ground, "He knows where it is and he can come get it."

But Allen gets twitchy when you're even mentioned. I'm sure it used to be worse, "If you and Francois were so happy, what happened?"

"Well," Oliver idly ran his fingers down the back of my arm, "Things started to take a turn. Almost as if Francois was waking up from a dream. But I knew what was going on. Francois was spiraling into an episode. And a bad one. He started refusing my help out of nowhere. Even if I'd get close to him, he'd back off. I didn't do anything else different than what I normally did. I've seen this a million times. And I knew what Francois was like. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up hurting himself. Or worse, Allen and Matthieu. But it got even worse than that. Francois, in his self-destruction, turned those little boys, who I watched grow up for years and loved so much, against me…Because what would be worse than hurting himself? Hurting me. He pushed me away and took off with our boys. Honestly, I would've thought that if we would've gotten divorced, at least one would still be with me. But he had to have them both."

"But think of it this way," I pointed out, "If he was so bad, maybe he needed both of them in case he got bad again."

"That shouldn't be their responsibility," Oliver snapped, "They're just children! They shouldn't be his crutch!"

"Ok," I freaked a little, "I see I licked a nine-volt battery here."

"No…" he settled himself, "It was a perfectly valid thought, love, but…They were only about sixteen when he took them. They shouldn't have to be the one to take care of him. But ever since that night…Francois took them away from me. And I haven't heard from them since. That's why I'm so afraid of losing you. I'm afraid that one day, you'll walk out my front door and never come back. Just like they did. I don't want that to ever happen with you, Amelia. That's why I do everything in my power to keep you happy here. I don't want you to go."

A soft sob escaped Oliver's throat. And furthered the crack in my heart. I nuzzled my face in his neck, "I haven't left yet, have I?"

"And…" Oliver wiped the tears from his cheeks, "You won't leave…Right?"

"I usually come back here, don't I?"

"That's good to hear," he hugged me tight, "I love you, Amelia, and I'd hate for you to be hurt. You've been through enough pain in your life. Promise me you'll never pull a stunt like last night again."

"I promise…" I was nearly ready to pass out in his arms. But I wasn't really expecting the I love you out of him. The soul baring must really be getting to him.

"Good," Oliver got up from the chair and brought me over to my bed, "But see…As much as I'd like to, I don't know if I can trust that…Go on, darling. Lie down."

"What do you mean?" I got in bed, "Of course you can. Trust me, Oliver. One police escort home is plenty to scare me straight."

"That police escort home shouldn't have happened in the first place," he pointed out, "But I want you to smell your pillowcase. I know it's a strange request, but I used a new detergent on your bedding and I want to know what you think of it."

"Ok…" I stuck my nose on the pillowcase and took a good inhale.

"That's right…" Oliver praised, "Take it in. What do you smell, Amelia?"

"It's…" I smelled it a little closer, "Kind of sweet. But a little bit like bleach. Clean laundry maybe?"

"Keep going," he insisted, "What else is there?"

"I don't…" Out of complete nowhere, I got really dizzy. And my headache only got worse, "Know…Oliver…What is this…?"

"Shh…" Oliver sat at my bedside, his hand on my back. The dizziness kept coming in waves, almost making me nauseous, "Shh…You're alright, love. Just go to sleep. It'll be all better when you wake up."


	22. Baby Doll

What…the fuuuck….?

Why did I feel so dizzy? What the hell happened last night? And where the ever loving fuck was I? Because this wasn't my bedroom. And this wasn't my bed. I know I was wickedly hungover, but I don't remember drinking again last night. This kind of blacking out only happened to me once and that was my freshman year of college when I made the mistake of going to my first college party at a frat house. Some prick spiked my drink and at the end of the day, that's kind of how I ended up meeting Reid. He was trashed beyond belief, but he got me out of there. We went to Denny's the next morning…afternoon.

Aside from my dizziness, I did my best to ground myself a little more. This wasn't my usual bed. Instead, the sides were raised even more. I couldn't find any latches on them, though and if I was going to step over them, I'd end up hurting myself. So, for the sake of my physical being, it'd be best not to do that. Other than that, the room was pretty dark. Only a little bit of sunlight came through the window. And that window was sealed from the outside. There goes my chance of a window escape. What little of the room I could see, though…This place looked like a dollhouse. Only life size.

As I moved a little in the bed, something else felt off. Something below decks. And it wasn't like when something felt weird below decks at that frat party. I wasn't sure how to describe it. It was like my underwear was gone, but something was still there. It's the strangest thing. I couldn't pinpoint it if I wanted to. But then, something dawned on me. I know why the bars were on my bed. And I know why they were so high. This wasn't a bed. I was laying in a crib. What the fuck is my life?

Regardless, I think I could probably make it over the bar. My pain be damned. It'll be a temporary thing. God only knows what sticking around could do for me. I swung one leg over the rail. Only to lose my balance and fall back into the crib. Which was probably for the best anyway. I heard footsteps coming up the hall and the door handle moving. I had seconds to decide whether to stay awake or fake sleep. But I wasn't quick enough on the draw.

"Good morning, Amelia," Oliver walked in. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or horrified, "Did you sleep well?"

"What's going on here?" Just because I was torn between emotions didn't mean I couldn't get answers.

"What was always meant to me," he put his hand to my cheek, "If last night wasn't a sign of that, I don't know what was. You need guidance, Amelia. And lord knows you weren't getting it. And the decisions you were making for yourself were…let's just call them less than desirable. I'm the best you have."

"You seem to think so," I backed off.

"Think of it, darling," Oliver pointed out, "Your mother walks all over you. Your father is no better. And the shame of it all is that they're not even your real parents, yet you allow this all to happen."

"Wait," I perked up, a sinking feeling in my stomach, "What did you just say?"

"You didn't know?" he wondered, "They never told you?"

"Tell me what?" I didn't like where this was going. I didn't like it one bit.

"Oh, poppet…" Oliver awed, holding onto my hand, "You were adopted. The two people you thought were your parents have been lying to you from the start. They are not your blood. They never truly cared for you. If they did, they would've at least told you that much."

"No…" I shook him out of my head, "You're the one lying to me."

"I never have, darling," he swore, "Ever since we met, I've never lied to you. I have your adoption papers, if you'd like to see them."

"No," I shot him down. If Oliver was going this far with it, there's no sense in me seeing the papers. I don't want to make it more real.

"Amelia…" Oliver sat in front of my crib…Again. What the fuck is my life right now? I find out I'm adopted from a fucking crib from someone like Oliver, "You and me? We met from destiny. You and I crossed paths for a reason. And that's because no one will ever care for you like I do. No one will ever take care of you like I do. Your ex-boyfriend? He chose alcohol over you. Your alleged parents? Selfish. They didn't even have the decency to tell you the truth. You deserve the world, my love. And all I want to do is give it to you. I don't want to hurt you. I don't ever want you to be hurt ever again. I know this isn't the most orthodox way of keeping you safe, but as long as it does what it's meant to, then so be it."

"Why do I feel so off?" I asked.

"I told you," he reiterated, "I had to go through some unorthodox methods of getting you here. If I were to have asked you to go away on holiday with me, you wouldn't have said yes. But at the same time, I needed to get you here."

"Where is here?"

"This is my cottage away from our house," Oliver smiled a little, "Isn't it lovely? Do you like it?"

"Sure." At this point, I didn't give a fuck about it. I just needed to know a more exact location than just his cottage.

"I'm glad," he chimed, "Because we're going to be here for a while. Although, I'm sorry I had to go through the channels I did. I needed to mix a few things that would make you go to sleep for a little while. Between those and your hangover, you were sleeping like a baby last night and that's how that worked. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Super," I grumbled, putting two and two together, "You _drugged _me?!"

"No, no, no," Oliver clarified, "No one used that word. I didn't drug you. I just happened to wash your pillowcases. In a mixture of bleach and rubbing alcohol…That was enough to get you to go sleepy-bye long enough for us to get here."

"So, you didn't drug me," I snapped, "You chloroformed me instead!"

"Unintentionally, yes," he nodded, "But it was all for a good reason."

But the more I thought about everything going on around me, one thing became crystal fucking clear, "Oliver…If I ask you one question, do you promise to answer me honestly?"

"Of course, darling," Oliver promised, "What is it?"

"It's a two-part question," I began, "One: Did you happen to bring the swear jar with?"

"Bold of you to assume we don't already have one here," he answered, "Why?"

"Because of question two," I told him, "Am I seriously in a fucking diaper right now?"

"And that's what we needed the swear jar here for," Oliver gasped, "I thought I would've had you broken of that little habit already, Amelia. Don't get me wrong, dear. I love you, but as of right now, you're a bit of a flight risk and I wouldn't want you running off, so I can't exactly trust you out of this room on your own quite yet. Given your current cranky disposition, though, I don't need to change it already, do I? I could've sworn I just put that on."

"Why can't I just use a bathroom like a normal person?"

"Are you hungry?" he changed the subject completely, "I bet that's what has you so fussy. Stay right here. I'll bring you something. Back in a moment."

Oliver got up from his chair and shut the door behind him. I know I've said this a few times already, but what the fuck is happening? I'm adopted. I'm pretty sure I'm legally considered kidnapped. And I can't even use a fucking bathroom unless it's strapped to my ass! This is nuts, right? Like…This is an episode of CSI waiting to happen, right? No…Not quite CSI. Maybe Criminal Minds. Mmm…When does Special Agent Morgan come in to rescue me? Because…I wouldn't be mad about that.

Right now, I couldn't afford to think with my libido. I needed to find a way out of here and as soon as humanly possible. Granted, I have no fucking clue where Oliver's cottage was, but if I could get to a phone, I bet I know someone who would. Or a few someones for that matter. I'd hate to put Francois through this, but I know damn well he knows where this cottage is. By the way Oliver was talking about their relationship, they were happy at one time and I have no doubt they came out here a time or two before.

But then, Oliver snapped me back out of my combination of escape fantasies and Shemar Moore fantasies, "Amelia? Are you hungry?"

"I don't know," I glared a hole through him, ignoring the grumbling in my stomach. Dammit, he's good, "Am I allowed to make that decision or are you going to decide that for me?"

"Such rudeness coming out of you today," Oliver brushed me off, undoing the latches on the crib, "Now, I'm going to pick you up out of this crib. I'm sure the sedatives have made your legs a little wobbly yet. You're not going to hit me, bite me, scratch me, or do anything of the sort. If you do, I can make things a whole lot worse for you than the comfortable life I've given you. Do we understand?"

A part of me wanted to do all the of the above. But if this was Oliver at his best, I'd hate to see Oliver at his worst, "Fine."

"Good," he chimed, pulling me to his chest, "I don't want to make things difficult for you, so please don't make them difficult for me. Ok?"

"Fine," I wasn't giving him the satisfaction. And no one could blame me. I held my hands behind his head as the two of us sat down in the oversized rocking chair in the corner. Wow…It wasn't much different from my bedroom back home. Oliver said he was bringing me food. I'm fucking starving, but I don't smell his cooking. I don't understand, "I thought I was getting food."

"This is your food," Oliver reached over, shaking up a bottle. Are you shitting me? Is this where we're at now? Jesus Christ, "This has everything you need in it. Now, open your mouth."

He's lucky I'm starving. I don't know what hell would await me in that bottle, but I don't think it was baby formula. At least I hope not. I remember feeding my cousin when he was practically fresh out of the womb. The smell of that shit was nauseating. I tried taking the bottle from him, doing my best to preserve my dignity, but I should've known. There's no way he was going to let me do that. It's like Oliver said. He wanted to give me the world. And that included giving me a bottle. Against my better judgment, I opened my mouth as he asked me.

"Very good," Oliver stuck the bottle in my mouth. Ok. It wasn't formula like I thought. Good. Instead, this tasted like a protein shake. Honestly, I was kind of hoping for something a little more solid, but I guess this would have to do. As I indulged myself in this protein shake, Oliver started rocking the chair a little, "See? Isn't this so much simpler? Just you and me? You don't have to have a single care in the world. And that's not so bad, is it?"

Yep. There went my dignity. And soon enough, my sanity would likely follow suit.

"This was all I wanted for you, Amelia," he went on, watching as my bottle got lower and lower, "Just a simpler life. Something where you didn't need to worry about anything. Because I'd always be here to take care of it. Now, why don't you go back to sleep, love? You'll get a bath later. Promise."

Oliver put me back in the crib and redid the latches, but not without a kiss to my forehead before he walked out. I need to get the fuck out of here. And I need to do it now.


	23. Daddy Dearest

Come on, Amy. You can do this. It's just one leg over the bar. Fuck if you get hurt. If you do, you can walk it off. It's not far down enough to the point where I'd end up breaking something. At most, it'd be a sprain or something of the like. And I could walk that off. I've done it a time or two before. I could do it again. I just need to get out of bed. I say bed…This isn't a bed. It's a fucking overgrown crib. But still, I needed to get out of here and I needed to do it as soon as humanly possible.

I'm not Oliver's baby. Then again, I don't know who my biological father is. It might actually be Oliver. But I doubt it. I just needed to know. I'm sure he knows who my biological parents are. But where would that information be kept? We weren't in Oliver's house anymore. This was his cottage. It'd be nice to have a general layout of the house in my head, but unfortunately, Amy isn't allowed nice things. But she can give herself one nice thing. And that's getting the fuck out of this crib.

"Amelia…" I heard Oliver yell from down the hall, "Whatever you're trying to do, you stay right where you are!"

How in the fuck did he know…? Witchcraft. It had to be. Or something else. I just wanted to get out of this room. Was that too much to ask? According to Oliver, yes. That is, in fact, too much to ask. But I didn't need to upset him. He's already drugged me with no problems. Granted, it was chloroform, but the fact that he knew how to make it scared the shit out of me. But then, it dawned on me. Oliver told me exactly how he did it.

If he can chloroform me, then what's stopping me from returning the favor? I just needed to know where he kept the bleach and the rubbing alcohol in this place. Likely the laundry room. If this cottage even had a laundry room. I'm sure it didn't have a specific ratio. Just a little of each should do it. Soak some kind of cloth with it and hold it over his mouth and nose. I should be fine.

"Amelia," Oliver came into the room and walked right up to the edge of the crib, "I'm going to take you out of the bed again. The same rules as before apply, but this time, we're also going to be leaving this room. You'd be wise not to run off on me. We wouldn't want anyone getting hurt, would we?"

"What do you mean?" I started to sweat. A little more than I have been.

"Oh, my dear," he scooped me into his arms and held me tight, "I love you. And you know I'd do anything for you in the name of keeping you safe. And I can't trust you to keep yourself safe on your own anymore. But that's why we're here, isn't it? Because you're my baby and I want to keep you out of harm's way as much as I can."

"No," I shot him down, "Oliver…This isn't right."

"What do you mean?" Oliver chuckled to himself, "Of course it is. I think your head is still fuzzy from the chloroform. I'm sure it'll go away."

"No," I stood my ground, still trying to be gentle with him, "Oliver, don't get me wrong. I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me, but I'm not supposed to be kept like this. I should be able to do things for myself. I should be able to walk wherever you're taking me. Feeding myself. Being able to use the bathroom. Just little basic things. I'm not…"

"Enough!" he snapped, scaring the shit out of me, "You sound just like he did. Well…I'm not making the same mistake twice. I'm not going to let you slip through my fingers like he did. You're going to behave yourself or we are going to have problems. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I wasn't going to fight him. In all honesty, I was genuinely scared. This wasn't the same Oliver I met the night of my big fight with Reid. This was scary. This was the same Oliver that Allen and Matt and even Francois warned me about. And I should've listened.

"Good," Oliver relaxed a little, getting a better hold on me, "All you need is a little guidance, Amelia. And who better to protect you from the cruelty of this world than me? Is it so bad to love you?"

There's such a thing as being overbearing, but I had a feeling if I were to say that out loud, I'd find out how much worse things could get for me. Oliver did say to behave myself. For now, that's exactly what I'd do. I don't know what's going to come next, but I'd rather this went smoothly. I'll find out what he's trying to accomplish by keeping me and plan accordingly from there.

As he walked me down the hall, I made note of where the doors were. However, I wasn't going to see much. Oliver brought me from the bedroom to the bathroom down the hall. He said this was his cottage, so there's only one story. It was just Oliver's house in a smaller version. The same look of someone had shit a doily in here, too. I need to find a way out of here. I'm sure this won't be the only place Oliver takes me.

Although, the bathtub looked awfully inviting. It's not like I was going to get a say in it anyway. I'd soon find out what that bathtub felt like. Slowly and gently, Oliver helped me get undressed and put me down in the water. Ok. This was nice. It wasn't much different from baths in Oliver's bathtub, but something was a little off. But this was comfortable. The warmth from the water put me at ease and relaxed all my muscles on contact.

"There," Oliver gave himself a pat on the back, "How's that?"

"It's not the same as yours," I admitted.

"I know," he cradled my cheek in the palm of his hand, "We needed to get away from the house anyway. I've been thinking about this trip for a while now and I wanted to plan it with you. However, certain things fell into place and…Well, it turned into a happy surprise instead. Surprises are much more fun anyway. Speaking of surprises, wait until you see what I packed for you. If we're being honest, I loved packing your suitcase. You'll be so cute. I promise."

"I can only imagine." Visions of pastel nightmares danced in my head. More of Oliver making me look like a complete fucking cupcake with all the sprinkles on it.

"Amelia…" Oliver's voice took an odd turn. Like he fought yelling at me tooth and nail. He's barely holding it together, "You don't need to sass me. I don't want to punish you, darling. An open palm on wet skin is likely unpleasant."

"It is, if you do it right." Dammit. Why does my mouth have to operate faster than my brain sometimes? And always at the WORST times. Immediately, I shut my mouth, pretending that didn't happen.

"What was that?" I think he might have heard it. Shit.

"Nothing."

"That's right," Oliver brushed it off. Although, I did have some flashbacks to the earlier days of my relationship with Reid. Those were good days. Those were days when his crazy and my crazy were the same batshit level. Before I settled down. Damn, those days were fun. Especially when we'd have date nights with a very happy ending. Or as I like to call it, how I know what a smack to the wet ass feels like when it's done right. Mmm…

When I got out of the bathtub, Oliver picked me up and laid me on a towel, drying me off to the best of his ability. This was beyond humiliating, but I was already on a short leash. And back in a diaper. Where the fuck did my dignity go? Because I'm pretty sure it's MIA at this point. And to make matters even worse, show of hands, who got footie pajamas? No one? Just me? Ok, great. In case people were curious, they had bunnies on them, too. I might have to go back through a slutty phase just to restore balance to the universe.

"I'll get you dressed later," Oliver assured, his hand on my belly, "But these are so cute. They'll do for now."

"What's later?" I wondered, mourning the loss of my pride.

"My friends I told you about from the last party I threw," he explained, sitting me up in his lap, "They're going to come over here. And they'll all be here. No proxies allowed."

"Oh." That's too bad. It would've been nice if I got to see Ivan again. He'd be able to get out my distress signal to at least Alfred, if not Alfred and Allen. I sat quiet and still as Oliver ran a brush through my wet hair. I didn't like this. I didn't like this at all. Normally, I didn't have a problem with someone else brushing my hair. In fact, it was kind of relaxing. But this? This wasn't the ok context.

"It's alright, Amelia," Oliver promised, "They do have a soft spot for you."

Particularly Flavio. I didn't have a problem when he made me his doll the other night. That was kind of fun. Unlike Oliver, Flavio would treat me like an adult. And I loved him for it. It made me curious, though. If _all _of Oliver's friends are coming here, does that mean Francois, too? A girl can hope, right? If Francois comes, then I'm sure he'll get me out of here. Silver linings. But I doubt Francois got the invitation. Although…There is one that Oliver isn't banking on. He has no idea that Flavio and I were in contact the other night. He made me all cute when I got drunk with Allen. And he is cousins with Francois. I'm sure they talk. I may be saved yet!

Oliver picked me up from the floor and brought me back into the bedroom, gently putting me down in the chair instead of the crib. Yes! A chance to explore! Maybe I can find a way out now, "Alright, Amelia. You're going to stay in here until I come back to get you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Oliver…"

"Do you think you could indulge me for a moment, love?" Oliver requested, "I promise it's nothing too strenuous."

"Depends…" I wasn't sure where he was taking this. Given where everything else has gone in the last twenty-four hours, I'm pretty sure that I had every right to be skeptical.

"Just once," he asked, "Could you call me Papa?"

"No." Entertaining the idea wasn't even going to happen.

"Alright," Oliver backed off, "I see this is going to be a process. Now, I want you to stay right here until I come back to get you. Not that you can really go anywhere else. I shouldn't be long, but our first guest should be here shortly and I need to have a word with him alone."

"Fine." He didn't need to know that I was going to figure out a way to escape. Dammit, why did Allen have to be right? Why did Francois have to be right? Why did I have to be so very wrong? Regardless, Oliver left me in my new bedroom and shut the door behind him.

It'd be stupid of me to try, but it'd be even stupider of me not to. I got up from the chair and checked the doorknob. Sure enough, locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Shit. There goes the obvious choice. But maybe…Maybe the windows? I pushed the sheer curtains aside and pulled up the blinds. Nope. They're definitely sealed from the outside. Well, fuck. How the hell was I going to get out of here? I could always ram the door, I guess, but I didn't have that kind of physical strength.

A bright red light flashed under the crib. Well…Isn't that a peculiar thing? I got on my belly and looked under the bed. So, that's how Oliver knew when I was moving around in here. I didn't think he'd go as far as to put a fucking baby monitor under the bed. It got me thinking, though. How long has he had a baby monitor under my bed? Because I always thought it was strange how he had such perfect timing when I'd wake up in the morning. How long has he had a baby monitor on me? And if he has a baby monitor on me now, I had no doubt in my mind that he had some nanny cams somewhere, too.

Let's see. There were stuffed animals all over the place in here. How many pairs of eyes did Oliver have in here? Just to be safe, I covered all of them with any blankets I could find. I'm terrified to think that what was intended to be something soft and squishy and lovable is _actually _watching me. They were all kind of creepy anyway. Is this where my life is? Keeping stuffed animals from watching me and my psychotic roommate treating me like an actual baby? What the fuck has happened to me? And what was going to happen to me now?


	24. Global Takeover

If I didn't know any better, I'd think there was something going on downstairs. It's times like these where I'm glad Oliver didn't put me back in my crib. Again. Sentences I didn't think I'd ever say, but here we are. This was my current fucked up existence. I don't know what Oliver wanted with me other than to make me his baby, which that on its own makes me cringe. Why did it have to be me? Why couldn't it have been some other hopeless creature?

I took the batteries out of the baby monitor and tried to open the door again. Unfortunately, Oliver still had the door locked. If we're being honest, it sucked. I didn't even have anything to pick the lock with. Yes. I went through a phase. Yes. I've broken into some places I wasn't supposed to. But that did get me back in my house once when I lost my house key, so we'll call that a useful skill. No ballpoint pens. No bobby pins. No screwdriver. I was boned. That didn't mean I couldn't hear anything. I listened closely to the commotion outside the door.

"Thank you for coming by early, Xiao," Oliver greeted. Xiao…Xiao…I remember Xiao. He was the one that looked like a pickpocket and showed up to Oliver's high off his ass on God knows what. Oliver got pissed at him for that. Why would he be here early?

"Yeah," Xiao grumbled, "I was in the middle of a nap when you called, though…"

"Sleep through today's meeting," Oliver suggested, not really sounding like Oliver at all.

"Really?" That got Xiao's attention, "That's so nice of you, Oliver!"

"On one condition." And there was Oliver. For a minute, I thought we lost him, "Did you bring your wares with?"

"I did!" Xiao confirmed, a loud thump echoing through the hall. What kind of wares did this guy bring? "Xiao Wang's street apothecary is open for business. How may I help you, Mr. Kirkland?"

"Adderall," Oliver ordered, "If you have any, please."

"Adderall?" Xiao wondered, "Really? You don't strike me as the type, Oliver. But who am I to judge?"

"It's not for me," Oliver sent a shock through my stomach. If the Adderall isn't for him and it wasn't for Xiao, it could only be for one other person, "And you wouldn't happen to have anything in the line of sedatives, would you?"

What the fuck did this guy have planned for me? I didn't like where this was going and Xiao seemed like he was just looking for a quick sale, "Look at you, Oliver! Someone's looking to party. Adderall, sedatives…That's what I like to call a Tuesday afternoon. Now, what's got you wanting to stock up on behavioral meds?"

"Do you have them or not?" Oliver snapped.

"Relax, Oliver," Xiao settled him, "First sample is on the house. Really, though. What's all this for? I don't care either way, but I'm just curious."

"Well," Oliver let out a heavy sigh, "I fear that my little one may be going through a rebellious phase soon and I'd like to be prepared for that. I'm worried about her, Xiao."

"For what?" Xiao asked.

"I just…" Oliver admitted, "I don't want her to become like the others. I don't want to lose her."

"I just saw Matt the other day," Xiao reported, throwing some pills in a bottle, "Speaking of the others."

"Is he alright?" Oliver immediately jumped down his throat, "Is he taking care of himself? Did he look ok?"

"He's fine," Xiao assured, "Relax, Oliver. You're overre…"

"Xiao," Oliver's voice dropped an octave, making me nervous, "I know Kuro is technically younger than you, so you have somewhat of an understanding, but at the same time, you don't understand what it's like to be a parent. I will never _ever _stop worrying about those two. Three now, if we count Amelia. If you don't want to make your nap permanent, you'll stop right there."

"Got it," Xiao stopped, "I know you're not above getting your hands dirty for something like that either."

"Of course not," Oliver confirmed. Hold on…What exactly did Xiao mean by Oliver getting his hands dirty?

"Did you hear?" Xiao went on, "They just found some guy not too long ago."

"Yes," Oliver agreed, "I heard."

"Looked like it was an accident that got him," Xiao figured, "If they knew what to look for, I'd think it was your handiwork."

"Of course it was," Oliver scoffed, "Like you said, if someone knows just what to look for, all signs would point to me. However, I also know how to cover my tracks. I'm not stupid."

Immediately, I ran back to the crib and things made more sense. When Xiao said something about Oliver getting his hands dirty…He's killed people. For the last few months, I've lived with a killer. People make jokes about it all the time. What if your new roommate is a serial killer? Well…I know how to fucking pick them, don't I? It made me curious, though. Who was the last person? The last person I knew of dying in an accident was…

No…

No. It wasn't…But…What if it was? Maybe Reid didn't die in a drunk driving accident like I was led to believe. Maybe he didn't drive his car into the river. I think I'm going to be sick. I might throw up right here and now. But that would lead to Oliver wanting to take care of me. And there is no fucking way I'm going through that again. But I couldn't think about Reid now. I needed to focus on what was going on now. His death could be avenged later. I started to hear footsteps coming toward my room. And I didn't like who they belonged to.

As much as it was going to pain me, I put the batteries back in the baby monitor and undid the latches on the outside of the crib, crawling back into it. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, Oliver would leave me alone. There's only one way to find out, right? I shut my eyes and covered myself up. I even thought about adding in some fake snoring just to kick the theatrics up a bit, but my fake snore was too obvious.

"Amelia…?" Oliver walked in, pushing my hair out of my face, "Are you asleep, darling?"

Stay quiet, Amy. Don't let him know you're…

"I know you're awake," he giggled to himself, "You silly little girl, you…"

Shit. I rolled over and played nice, "What do you want, Oliver?"

"For you to change your tone for one," Oliver scolded me, "More importantly, are you ready for tonight?"

"Depends on what tonight is," I wondered.

"I'm going to introduce you to some people," he explained, his cheerful disposition falling a bit, "They're not exactly the best, though. They're bad people, Amelia. They're not like my other friends. Some may even go as far as to say they're the complete opposite. But I promise that I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You'll be ok."

"Sounds like a good time," I grumbled, my voice thick with sarcasm. But then, I figured I'd throw him a curveball, "Hey, Oliver?"

"Yes, darling," Oliver listened closely, "What is it?"

"You know how I moved in on a more permanent basis a month or so ago?" I sat up in my crib, still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I'm in a goddamn crib.

"Yes," he sighed out, "And what a wonderful time we've had, wouldn't you say?"

"Oliver, I want to move out," I spoke bluntly.

"I can't let you do that," Oliver brushed me off. I might as well have told that to a brick wall. He got me out of the crib and sat me back down on the chair, "Not now anyway."

"Why not?" I'm pretty sure that I could legally call this kidnapping by now. At least being held against my will.

"Because," he dug through the closet. Why am I not surprised that he unpacked everything in the suitcase? Even when I do go out of town, it's not like I actually utilize the dressers or anything. No matter how long I'm staying, "They're all here for you. Every single one of them."

"Who?" I don't like where this is going.

"Everyone," Oliver chimed, "You haven't met all of my friends quite yet, but they're all here for you! The ones who couldn't make it the other night anyway. Some of them didn't even have the common decency to call me and turn down the invitation. Personally, I think that's a little rude. You should always RSVP to any party, Amelia. Even if it's to say no. And if you're going to show up late, you should tell the host that as well. Now, where did I put it…?"

"Put what?" I wondered as the knot in my stomach tightened.

"I did get you a special dress for the occasion," he continued pushing the massive amounts of tulle aside. But then, the sound of the hangers sliding across the metal bar came to a screeching halt, "Ah! There it is."

Oh, shit. What sweet hell awaited me? Because I had a feeling that I was about to be Oliver's doll again. I'd rather be eaten alive by a swarm of bees, "You really didn't have to go through the trouble, Oliver."

"Oh, nonsense," Oliver hushed me, "It was no trouble. Even if it was, it would be entirely worth it. Especially for you. Now, we really should get you dressed. I know that one is already waiting in the living room and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to ask him to empty his pockets when he leaves."

"Klepto?" I assumed. Look at that. I was right about Xiao being a pickpocket.

"I wouldn't call him a klepto," he unzipped my pajamas, putting me in my new dress that only one of us was all excited about, "But I do have some rather expensive knickknacks around the cottage and…Well…You've heard of people selling their grandparents' televisions for drug money, yes?"

"Yeah," I think I remember Reid selling his grandma's old TV for beer money once. But that was a long time ago. Before the asshole in front of me likely killed him.

"He'd likely trade his shoes for opium," Oliver figured, pulling my dress over my head. This was a lavender nightmare that I'd like to wake up from any time now. Of course, like any other time Oliver got me dressed, he couldn't contain himself, "Oh, Amelia! You look so cute! Like a little sugarplum fairy."

"Yay…"

"Oh, don't be like that," he shut me down, "Smile, my love. It's not the end of the world. In fact, if we play our cards right this evening, it may be the beginning of a brand new one. Come along. We have guests waiting and I think they're all here now. Well…Except for a select few, but we don't need them here anyway."

Gee…I wonder who those select few could be. I bet I knew who they were. This sucks. This sucks every dick in existence. I hated being in this house. I hated being in close proximity to Oliver. I hated this fucking dress. I hated the fact that I couldn't even put it on myself. The footie pajamas I was in before, though? Those weren't bad. In my own sick, twisted way, I kind of wanted to keep them when this was all over. As far as this party is concerned…I just need one ally. Only one. If I had one person here I knew and I could trust to get me the fuck out of here, this night may turn around for me.

When Oliver brought me out of the bedroom, he took me down the hall and into the living room that was absolutely packed. And now, I could add claustrophobia to that list. Lucky me! It's weird not doing this in Oliver's house. I missed its kitschy charms and the way it felt like walking into my grandma's house. This wasn't much different, but…I don't know. Knowing what I know now, things seem a little darker. I sat near the laptop that Kuro was punching keys on. He seemed tense.

"Hi, Kuro…" I played nice, hoping to make a friend. I didn't see Ivan. In a perfect world, he'd be here, too. However, a bigger, scarier Russian man stood in his place. That must be Viktor.

"Why are you talking to me?" Kuro gave me a look like I was on drugs.

"Kuro," Oliver immediately called his ass out on that, "That was rude. Apologize to her."

"Fine," Kuro rolled his eyes, "Uzendayo…"

"Kuro!" Oliver snapped, pushing the swear jar across the table while Xiao giggled to himself, "Don't think I don't know what you just said to her. That wasn't an apology."

"Fine," Kuro threw some money in the jar, "I'm sorry."

"That's better," Oliver dropped it. I wonder what set him off. What did Kuro say to me? Whatever. I got the feeling he didn't care much for me anyway. Oh well. Fuck him, "Now, gentlemen, the time is upon us."

"I'd still rather be polishing nuke, Oliver," Big Guy…Viktor, I'm assuming.

"You will not be polishing any nuke in my house," Oliver shot him down. Looks like we know where he stands on a little self-service once in a while.

"But she's cute," Viktor looked me over with hunger in his eyes, "You become one with me, da?"

"She's mine," Oliver got territorial. And a little angry. Under any other circumstances, it might be kind of hot. But right now…Not so much.

"Fine, fine," Viktor backed off, "Your little kotenok to do with as you wish. I'm not stopping you."

"Why are we here now, Oliver?" There's the Italian I was hoping for. Although, Flavio had Luciano and Lutz nearby, too. Along with the pretty, sad Spaniard he told me all about. You must be Andres, "I got Caberet tickets and I don't want to see them go to waste."

"I like Caberet…" I spoke softly.

"No, Amelia," Oliver stopped me. Dammit, "Kuro, how far are we until our connection's made?"

"Just about there," Kuro put the laptop down, "Alright. We're live."

"Wonderful!" Oliver sang, "Are we on?"

"We're live," Kuro assured. Then, a man's face popped up on the screen. I've seen that face. That face was sitting next to me. No…That wasn't Oliver. Obviously. It's not like he can be in two places at once here. That was the guy that was at the house the other day. Before Oliver brought me here.

"Hello?" Oliver asked, "Arthur? Can you hear me?"

"Oliver…" Arthur answered, seething inside.

"Hello, brother mine!" Oliver couldn't be further from him. Where Arthur seemed like he was ready to stab someone, Oliver was about to burst into song like a fucking Disney movie. Then again, I wasn't surprised. That was just the way Oliver was most of the time, "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to make a few demands."


	25. True Family

The man on the screen…The one who looked suspiciously like Oliver. Now, I understood why they were so alike. Is it me? Do I just know a lot of twins? Is it something in the water? Or is there more to this story than I'm seeing here? When I heard him speak the other day, I never thought I'd actually speak to him like this. Then again, I doubt that Oliver would let me speak to him directly.

He and I had never met before. Not that I knew anyway. Something tells me I'd remember him. Yet, he looked at me in such horror. Not like he was afraid of me…but as if he pitied me, "Oliver, what have you done with her?"

"Amelia," Oliver leaned over to me, "Do you remember me telling you about him? Because I have."

I did, "Is he the bad man?"

"Yes," he pulled me into his shoulder, "This is my twin brother Arthur. I know. It's hard to believe he and I share blood, let alone a birthday, too. Arthur, I assume the whole council is there, yes?"

"All of us are here," Arthur confirmed.

"Show me," Oliver ordered, "Spin the camera around. It's been a while since I've seen everyone and it'd be nice to see their faces again."

"Fine," Arthur panned around the room at the rest of the people in the room with him. And a few familiar faces happened to be there. It's too bad Ivan couldn't be here, though.

"Hello, everyone!" Oliver chimed.

"This isn't the time for pleasantries, Oliver," Arthur scolded him.

"It's always the time for pleasantries!" Oliver insisted, "You always were the bitter one, weren't you, Arthur? Fine then. If you're going to be that way, shall we get down to business then?"

"Please."

"Alright then," Oliver ran his fingers down the back of my arm, "You see, brother dear, I know why we're here. You know why we're here. Everyone on your end and mine alike know why we're here. All except for one. And that one is the reason why we're all here. Rather ironic, isn't it?"

"Oliver," Arthur growled.

"You really aren't in the mood for pleasantries today, are you?" Oliver dropped it, "Fine. I've grown rather attached to little Amelia here. Honestly, could you blame me? Look at that precious little face and try not to fall in love."

"You know you can't keep her, Oliver," a new face showed up on the screen. Holy shit…This guy looked like Francois if Francois took better care of himself. I bet I know who you are.

"Francis!" Oliver sang, his smile only growing, "Ever the concerned mother. I don't know why I should be surprised. If it's been a day, it's been forever! How are you? How are things with you and my brother?"

"I don't know, Oliver," Francis stood his ground, "How are things with you and _my _brother?"

And there it was. Oliver's biggest sore spot. The biggest button that could've been pushed. And Francis dug into it, "That was uncalled for, Francis. All I asked for was some light conversation away from this and _you _had to play dirty."

"You know why I played dirty," Francis brushed him off, "Can we get back to the task at hand?"

"Heaven forbid we speak to each other on a civil, human level," Oliver moved on, "Look. Amelia's fine. I'm not keeping her or anything silly like that. I think that's Arthur getting in your heads. I've been taking good care of her in your absences. Tell them, Amelia. Tell them all about how well things have been going for us since you _willingly _moved in."

"I want to see Alfred," I didn't hesitate. I didn't want to play into whatever bullshit Oliver was trying to feed them. Right now, I was a simple girl with a simple need. And that simple need caught Oliver by surprise.

"Amelia," his tone got a little darker, "Tell them."

"But I want to see Alfred first," I demanded.

"Amy?" There it was. A familiar face to put me at ease. That's all I really wanted.

"Hi," I smiled a bit, "You have no idea how nice it is to see your face, Alfred."

"Ditto," Alfred agreed, chuckling to himself, "Are you ok?"

"Ok-ish," I admitted, "Things have been better."

"And they've been better since you moved in with me," Oliver added, "Isn't that right, Amelia?"

"What do you want, Oliver?" Arthur came back on screen.

"I've already told you, Arthur," Oliver explained, "Even those born in the shadows can crave the warmth of the sun. And I'm not the only cold shadow, brother. We all are. Most of you ignore our very existence. Like Francis, for example. If he paid a single scrap of attention to…him…He never would've been in the dark places he's been in."

"He refuses my help, Oliver," Francis jumped down his throat, "You know that as well as I do."

"There was a point where he'd refuse my help, too," Oliver remembered, "But did that stop me from trying?"

"And you wonder why he escaped you…"

"And Alfred," Oliver ignored Francis' backhanded comment, "Do you know where your brother was the other night?"

"Yeah," Alfred's eyes burned angry, fully prepared to go at Oliver's throat. It's a good thing there's a screen between us, "He went out with Amy."

"And?" Oliver smirked, "Last I heard anything, he had gotten incredibly drunk, along with Amelia."

"And he called me that night, looking for a ride home," Alfred defended, "Allen's not stupid. Besides, he had my car. He knows better. I was supposed to give Amy a ride home, too, but according to Allen, she got a ride home in the back of a cop car. You wouldn't have had something to do with that, would you, Oliver?"

"Of course I did," Oliver gasped, "I'm insulted that you'd think that a bad thing."

"I never said that," Alfred argued.

"In case you haven't figured it out yet, Arthur," Oliver came clean, "We want control of the world council. Complete and total control. Effective immediately."

"You know we can't do that, Oliver," Arthur turned him down, "We're the ones who take care of the world council."

"Come now," Oliver dug his fingers into my skin, his grip getting tighter and tighter. Damn…I didn't think he had that kind of strength in him, "You wouldn't want to see her hurt, would you?"

Without hesitation, Arthur jumped into action, "Where are you, Oliver?"

"I'm in the living room of my cottage in the country," Oliver loosened his grip, "You know, you don't deserve her, Arthur. She's so wonderful and so cute. Granted, she has a little bit of a rebellious streak in her, but I'm sure that with some proper guidance, we can take care of that, can't we? As far as I'm concerned, Amelia is mine. And you're not taking her from me."

Fuck me…Out of nowhere, my head gained at least fifty pounds. I could hardly keep it up. My neck muscles were nonexistent and the room couldn't stay still for longer than a few seconds. I might throw up. No. I'm not going to throw up. I'm ok. But I could stand a nap. I slinked down in Oliver's lap, fighting sleep tooth and nail, "Alfred…"

"Yeah, Amy?" Alfred showed up on the screen again. Hi, Alfred.

"I…" Another dizzy spell hit me. What the fuck, Amy? Stay strong, "I'm so tired."

"I know, darling," Oliver cradled me, holding my cheek in the palm of his hand, "I know. It's getting late and your new medicine is likely kicking in by now. I know you're tired and I promise I'll put you to bed soon. We just need to finish dealing with this first, ok? Then, we can get you ready for bed."

As much shit as Oliver has put me through in these last few days…Hell, possibly even these last few months, one thing remained. He really did care. And his heart was in a good place. He cuddled me a little closer, making it even harder for me to stay awake. But I had to. Fortunately, Oliver's display of affection was enough to add fuel to the fire already burning in Alfred.

"Keep your hands off her!" Alfred snapped, waking me up a little.

"Alfred," Oliver scolded him, "So angry. I'm doing nothing wrong. Honestly, weren't you raised better? I swear, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were brought into this world by absolute savages."

"I wasn't…!"

"Alfred," Arthur stopped him, "We'll handle this. Go sit down."

"But Ar…!"

"Alfred," Arthur reiterated, his tone a bit sterner this time around, "Go. I told you we'll handle this. If we need you, we'll let you know. For now, go sit."

"Alright," Alfred backed down, sitting at the table behind Arthur next to Francis and someone else. That had to be Mattie. Alfred told me about him once and if we're looking at the patterns here, he kind of looked like Matt. It wouldn't surprise me.

"You can't have the world council, Oliver," Arthur assured, "Do you realize what kind of chaos the world would fall into if it were you and the others?"

"We're tired of living in the shadows!" Oliver snapped, scaring the hell out of me, "We'll have the world council, Arthur. I can promise you that. Even if that means taking it by force."

"But Oliver," Arthur had to play dirty, too, "Amelia…You love her, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Oliver hugged me tight, afraid that someone would take me, "I'm the only one in this world who can keep her safe from _your _corruption. If you were to just leave well enough alone, could you imagine the perfect young lady she'd become? She'd be the very epitome of grace and civility."

"You're keeping her from her family," Arthur glared through him.

"I'm all the family she…"

"Her _true _family," Francis stepped in, "And you know it. Keeping her like this isn't love, Oliver. It's a hostage crisis."

"Oliver, please," Arthur begged with a tear in his eyes, "Please…Let her come home. You know as well as I do. This is not right."

Oliver thought it over for a moment or two. But I got to thinking, too. What did Francis mean by my true family? And why was Oliver trying to keep me from them so much? I don't see how they could possibly "corrupt" me. Not when I've been through my own corruption plenty. But that streak is out of me. It has been for a while now. In all the work I've done, this regression that Oliver has put me through may have done more harm than good.

"You're right, Arthur," Oliver nodded, "She is home. I hope you realize that you've had your chance and it's been wasted. You could've gotten what you wanted if I would've gotten what I wanted. Oh, well. It was nice seeing you all again! Kuro, cut the feed."

Kuro turned off the laptop and Oliver laid down with me. That may have taken more out of him than I thought it would. Luciano stepped in, "So, what do we do now, Oliver? Because I know a few guys that could do a little something, something to them. All it would take is a phone call and BAM! We don't have to deal with them anymore. The world council is ours and you get to keep your little sidepiece."

"I could make a call or two, too," Kuro added, "I know some people. The more, the merrier."

"Don't you ever call her that again," Oliver growled, ready to tear Luciano's throat out, "And we're not using your underground mafia connections, Luciano. And no yakuza either, Kuro. It wouldn't be right. Not that I'd have a problem with a little bit of bloodshed for the sake of this mission, but it's not the way to do it. It lacks a certain style."

"You could just send me," Viktor suggested, his voice rattling in my chest, "I walk in, scare der'mo out of them, and world council is ours."

"I appreciate the effort, Viktor," Oliver slid the swear jar across the coffee table, "But that's too…I don't know…Cut and dry. Your efforts are all appreciated and I apologize if I'm coming off a bit short. I'm just a little stressed. That's all."

"Oliver…" I spoke softly.

"Yes, love?" Oliver sat up, immediately tending to whatever I'd ask, "What is it?"

"What did Francis mean?" I bit the inside of my cheek.

"About what?"

"About my true family," I wondered, doing my best to stay strong. Because damn, I was tired. I was so tired.

"Oh, Amelia…" Oliver cradled me, "I don't want to do this, but I see it's going to be a necessary evil. Xiao…Oh, goodness sake, someone wake Xiao please."

"XIAO!" Viktor growled at him.

"WHAT?" Xiao sat up, "You said I could sleep through this meeting, Oliver!"

"I did," Oliver confirmed, "However, if you could recall, that did have a stipulation."

"Yeah, yeah," Xiao got up from his cozy chair and went over to the big ass trunk in the dining room, "I brought a few doses of it. Do you know how to administer it?"

"Can't say that I do," Oliver shrugged, "I don't normally play around with…things like these."

"Hold her arm down," Xiao ordered. Hold the fucking phone. Hold whose arm down?!

"What is it?" Oliver wondered, grabbing my arm.

"This is three milligrams of Lorazepam Intensol," Xiao explained, pulling out a needle. Oh, hell no. That's not going in me, "It's usually to treat anxiety, but it'll knock her out pretty well, too. Give her too little, it won't work. Give her too much and she'll OD. But because I'm so nice, I got a few syringes of it already prepared. If and/or when she starts to develop an immunity to it, do not, and I can't stress this enough, do NOT give her more than one syringe of this at a time. When that stops working, come see me again and you can move up to the big boy stuff."

"And what's that?"

"Midazolam," Xiao went on, "Those are fun. But a side effect of midazolam? It can cause amnesia, memory loss, things of the like. That's one that we use in as low of a dosage as we can. I mean, unless you want to squeegee her memory clean."

"Well," Oliver thought it over, "A clean slate with her wouldn't exactly be a bad thing, would it?"

"Excuse me?" I squeaked, slipping out of Oliver's grasp, "No! No, no, no!"

"Viktor," Oliver asked, "Could you hold her down please?"

Shit…I wish my fighting skills were a little better than a limp noodle. Viktor grabbed a hold of me, forcing my arm down onto the coffee table. Flavio winced a bit, "Look, Oliver, I'm all for experimenting with chemicals every now and then, but is this really necessary? She already said she was tired. Couldn't you just put her to bed?"

"I wouldn't want her faking it," Oliver saw through me. In all honesty, I really was tired. Whatever Oliver has been giving me is kicking my ass to the moon and I wanted to go to bed. But if I'm going to be asleep, it looks like I'm going to stay that way until tomorrow morning. At least I hope that's all it'll do, "I really don't want to have to sleep you, darling, but soon enough, we can build some more trust between us and we won't have to do this anymore."

My head got even heavier. Along with the rest of my body. Lorazepam Intensol, huh? I'm glad Xiao gave names. Maybe I have more allies amongst the masses than I think I do.


	26. Another Dose

Oh, I feel yucky. And not a yucky I felt before. It was a genuine sick, but not a normal kind of sick. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. All I knew was that I didn't like the nausea it gave me. And I know damn well who probably caused it. At least I wasn't tied to the crib, so I'll call that a win. That didn't mean I could suddenly climb over the bars, though. Dammit, Oliver…But then, a big wave overcame my stomach. Not good.

"Oliver," I called out to the empty room, "I know you can hear me. Let me out or there will be a huge mess in here."

I heard the locks outside ticking away. The door opened and he stood in the doorway, "Is everything ok, Amelia?"

That question was much more subjective than he knew, but I knew what he meant, "Trash can."

"What?" Oliver looked at me strange.

"Trash can," I begged, "Please."

"Alright," he got the sickeningly pick trash can near the changing table and handed it to me, "Why?"

I spilled the contents of my stomach into it, stomach acid burning the back of my throat, "That's why."

"Oh, poppet," Oliver got…a fucking burp cloth…out of the changing table and wiped my mouth off, "You must be having a bad reaction to your new medicine."

"Yeah," I pulled away, "It's called my body knowing I don't need them."

"But you do," he insisted, lightly swatting my nose with the dry end of the cloth, "You'll be ok. You just need to get used to them."

"Will I really be ok?" Because from my standpoint, I'm not thinking so.

"Of course," Oliver smiled, sending chills down my spine. It's so weird to think that was once such a source of comfort. Now, I could stand to puke again, "How about a walk?"

Wait, what? A…A walk? Getting out of here for a change? Not being stuck in this fucking crib? I'd be stupid to say no, but I couldn't sound too excited. He'll think I'm trying to make a break for it. It'd be ideal, but I'll settle for landmarks to tell the cops, "Ok."

"Splendid!"

"Do I actually get to walk?" I wondered, my mouth operating faster than my brain, "Or do I have a stroller, too?"

"Mind your tongue, Amelia," he scolded me, dropping his temper and the bar on the crib. Oliver helped me down and moved us to the big rocking chair, "Look, darling. I know things seem strange right now, but I promise you'll get used to it soon. It takes three weeks to form a new habit. In two months, it becomes routine. And you, my dear, sweet bundle of joy, have been with me for three months, one week, and four days. And what a lovely time it's been, wouldn't you say?"

"But why do I have to stay?" I argued, trying my damnedest not to lose my resolve, "Why do I have to get used to this?"

"Because it's unsafe for you, Amelia," Oliver cradled me tight against his chest, "I don't want to risk losing you. Although, I am a little curious as to how desperate the others will get for you. And how far they'll go. But I digress. I promise we'll take a walk a little while later, but for now, we need to get to work on lunch since a certain young lady slept through breakfast. Such a sleepyhead, Amelia."

"It's amazing what happens when you're sedated."

"I don't want to sedate you, sweetheart," he lied through his fucking teeth, "But sometimes, when you get a bit unruly beyond my control, I need a little help. It's hard being a single parent. Come along then. I'm sure you're hungry, considering most of what you've eaten had ended up in the trash can."

Oliver took my hand and led me through the house. It's the first time he's shown me any of the cottage since we've been here. And it's just the two of us. I'm not sure if that's comforting or horrifying, but he was right. I'm fucking starving and need something in my stomach or I'm going to end up throwing up again. Right now, I didn't care what Oliver was making as long as I could watch him making it. He wouldn't do something stupid like poison me, right? He's sedated me and drugged me before. But full on, could kill me, poison? No. Xiao told him how much of what was in those syringes would overdose me. If Oliver wanted to kill me, he easily could. And God knows he can cover his tracks.

"Here, darling," Oliver sat me in the cutest little breakfast nook, "You wait right here. I'll make you something to eat. Do you have any preferences?"

"I can make my own," I tried getting up, but to no avail.

"Nonsense," he brushed me off, "Of course you won't. You're so silly, Amelia. So, so silly."

"Oliver…" Maybe I could try to reason with him. I know that hasn't held much water since we've been here, but it's worth a shot. It's not like I had much for options, "This is starting to get to the point where you're holding me against my will."

"No," Oliver hushed me, "You want to be here, Amelia. You've told me this yourself. You _need _to be here. Or you won't last another day. Not on the path you were on."

"Oliver…" I took in a deep breath, done with being delicate. Delicate doesn't work with Oliver. Don't say I never tried playing nice. I'm done with Oliver getting into my head. I'm done with him telling me what I do and don't think. I'm done with him as a whole, "I don't."

"You don't what, love?" he checked the fridge for something for me to eat. And likely himself. But he totally blew me off.

"I don't want to be here," I stood my ground, "I want to be back in my house. The one where I lived with Reid, who I have no doubt in my mind you've killed."

"Amelia…" Slowly, Oliver shut the fridge, not making any eye contact with me, "Don't be like this."

"You did, didn't you?"

"You don't understand," he hid his face, "I do what I have to in order to keep you safe. You need to be protected, Amelia, and he was a cancer on your life. You need to see that. You're much better without him."

"That's not your decision to make," I growled, "Sure, I might be better off without him, but that didn't mean I wouldn't give him a chance to change. Just because _I _would be better off without him didn't mean the rest of the world would be, too."

"I've seen his type," Oliver scoffed, "Trust me. They would be. Don't you see why I do what I do? Why I want you kept safe? Why I never want anything bad to ever happen to you? I love you, Amelia. Really and truly, I do. Someone needed to show you that every day didn't have to be a warzone and I couldn't live with myself, letting you go on that way. Everything else aside, I love you. And I want you safe more than anything in this world. Because you're that precious to me."

"No," I knew better than that, "You might think you're doing this out of love, but it's because you want someone under your thumb. That's all this is. That's what it was with Francois, with Matt, with Allen…And now, you want to make me your next victim. I can't let you do that, Oliver."

I hit him. And I hit him hard. And I didn't even have to lay a finger on him. But I could see it in his eyes. I just tore his twisted, shattered heart out of his chest and held it in front of his face. He watched it beat in my fist. His bright, cheerful façade was cracking and no amount of hot glue would be able to put him back together. But unfortunately, he pulled himself back together and reached into the cabinet next to the stove.

"It looks like we're going to have to start this all over again, aren't we?" Oliver grabbed one of the syringes Xiao gave him, "You had no right to bring up Francois. I knew you were capable of playing dirty, but I didn't think you'd ever stoop that low. Oh, well. We have ways of fixing that, don't we? You're going to get very familiar with the high of Midozolam, my dear Amelia. I don't like breaking you like this, but if you're going to be _difficult_, it looks like I'm going to have to play dirty, too. It'll be the only way to get you to understand."

"I don't think so," I got up from the breakfast nook and started running for the back door. Although, I wasn't anticipating Oliver clotheslining me in the stomach and bringing me back to the breakfast nook. Son of a bitch knocked the wind out of me.

"Why, darling?" he sighed out, "Why must you be so difficult? I give you nothing but a carefree existence and you feel the need to sabotage it. It's unfortunate, but I see no other choice. I'm going to have to clean the slate with you, aren't I? Now, Xiao did show me how to do this properly, so it's not like I'm going to hurt you. Although, the needle might be a little less than desirable. But I know you can handle it. You've been through worse, I'm sure."

"Like the humiliation you're putting me through here?" I figured.

"Oh, Amelia…" Oliver put his hand to my cheek, making me flinch, "I really need to find a way of keeping that pretty little mouth of yours _shut, _don't I? Clearly, you know what I'm capable of. You know what I did to your ex-boyfriend. I wonder who else in your life I could do that to."

"There's only one I can think of," I played _really _dirty, "And I don't see you hurting Allen."

"Really?" he gave me a look, "Allen? _My _Allen? _He's _the one you think of first? Not your parents? Your family?"

"You don't know my cousin," I pointed out, "You wouldn't dare hurt Sebastian. And my parents don't even share blood with me. You so graciously told me that."

"And you don't think I'd hurt Allen?" You're bluffing, you son of a bitch. I can see it in your eyes. The former street rat in me learned to pick up tells a long time ago. You flinched at the mere mention of Allen. It pained you terribly to say his name. Right now, I'm untouchable. Granted, he didn't hesitate to take Reid out, but anyone else? He won't touch them. Not if he knows I have no emotional ties left.

"I know you wouldn't hurt Allen," I told him, "He might mean a lot to me, but he means a whole lot more to you."

"And you don't think I'd selflessly throw him under the bus for you?" Oh, shit…I didn't think he'd turn this on me, "For you? He walked away from me, Amelia. He hurt me more than you ever could. He'll never come back to me. Not willingly. If it meant me having you all to myself, Allen would merely be another stepping stone in creating that utopian idea."

"You'd kill your own son?" I gasped. This guy really is fucked up.

"For you," Oliver took my arm and tied it off, his syringe in hand, "Now, I need you to stay completely still for me. This needs to go into your vein and if it doesn't, it could make you as sick as you were a little while ago. And you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"No."

Knock, knock.

Oliver's head shot up, "What was that?"

"Someone at the door?" I figured.

"Why?" he glared a hole through me, "You don't have a way of calling someone, do you?"

"No," I shook my head. I didn't even know who'd be at the door. Unless I had someone on the inside. I might actually have someone on my side. But who? Flavio, maybe? Maybe Flavio told Allen. Allen told Matt. They're here to get me out of here? Or maybe they got help from all the others from the video call. I don't know what's happening, but God, I hope someone's here storming the castle. Because I don't want to know what the high of Midozolam is like. The way that Xiao was talking, that shit's dangerous. Like…Wiping my memories, dangerous. Left in the hands of Oliver Kirkland, I'd lose what little of myself I have left.

"Stay right here," Oliver demanded, "Do not move. Do not speak."

He pulled a zip tie out of his pocket and bound my free hand to the table. A little too tight, if I'm being asked, but I don't think Oliver cared. Shit…I was hoping whoever at the door could've at least been a distraction while I slip out the back door. Now…How do I undo a zip tie? I know there's a way of twisting it and giving it a good, swift yank, but I think the table would move with it, so I'm fucked there.

As much as I wanted to get out of here, I was curious about who was at the door. Who would be my unintentional (possibly intentional?) savior? I listened carefully as Oliver's feet tapped across the floor. As he asked me, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want him hurting Allen. I didn't want him hurting me. It's bad enough he has all intentions of juicing me up with something to wipe my memory. I don't need to piss him off any more than I already have.

"You…" Oliver let out a little panicked gasp, "You…"

"Bonjour, Oliver…" No. Fucking. Way. A faint smell of cheap wine and cigarettes floated through the air. There is no fucking way that's who I think it is. When he and I last saw each other, he didn't care if I lived or died. Hell, he threw himself at me, ready to choke me out. He wouldn't be the one to come to my rescue. I was just some stupid girl that wandered into Oliver's trap. I was the idiot that thought he was capable of change. That might just be my pattern. Maybe not everyone can be saved, but today, I think I might be the one being saved for a change, "You and I need to talk."


	27. Bonjour, Oliver

Of all the people to come to my rescue, Francois was the last one I would've expected. Then again, he may have also been the best. Right now, I don't think anyone else could get through to Oliver and how batshit crazy this whole thing is. But Francois could. Oliver may have always been under the impression he was the one to have set Francois on the straight and narrow. What if, by some odd twist of fate, Francois was the one keeping Oliver on kilter? What if it was never Francois in need of fixing, but Oliver instead?

"Why are you here?" Oliver gasped, still just as shocked as I was Francois was in the doorway.

"To ask you the same question," Francois told him, his voice just as disinterested as ever. Maybe he wasn't here to save me. Maybe he was here to reconnect with Oliver. And maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass.

"What?" Oliver brushed him off, "I'm not allowed to take a holiday? Sometimes, a little time away can do wonders."

"Where is she, Oliver?" Nope. Francois _was _here for me! Yay! As much as I wanted to yell for him, I knew I couldn't. God only knows how quickly Oliver could work. I don't want anyone else getting hurt for the sake of him keeping me quiet.

"Where's who?" Oh, what the hell, Oliver? I think he's talking about the girl you got zip tied in your kitchen right now.

"You know damn well who," Francois didn't come to play games. Good. Right now, I'm done with the games, too, "Amy? Give me a little yell, cheri. Let me know you're alright."

"She's fine," Oliver answered for me, only getting angrier with every passing second, "You shouldn't be here."

"Give me the girl, Oliver."

"Or what?" Oliver scoffed, "What are you going to do?"

"I've been sober for the last week and a half," Francois confessed, the bitterness in his voice softening a bit, "As far as my drinking is concerned. The drugs…I've been off those even longer."

"Really?" Oliver awed, "Good for you, darling. I'm so proud of you. But what does this have to do with anything?"

"Do you see this ring?" Francois asked.

"It's a beautiful ring," Oliver complimented, "What of it?"

"Do you remember what I was like when I'd be on cocaine?"

"Of course I do," Oliver started to get nervous, "You were an absolute nightmare. You bounced off the walls, threw a punch at one once. Plastering after your fights with the drywall were never pleasant."

"I haven't had any since our divorce," Francois admitted, "I had a little after to take the edge off the divorce in the first place, but I haven't had any since."

"And where were Mattheiu and Allen when you were doing this?" Oliver jumped on the defensive, "You weren't high around them, were you, Francois?"

"Of course not," Francois assured him, "They were staying with Flavio and Andres that night. I might have a problem, Oliver, but I'm at least responsible when I do it."

"Good…" Oliver let out a heavy sigh of relief, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You're not the only one who can get a hold of Xiao on short notice," Francois pointed out, "In my ring is just enough for me to fall off the wagon again. And I'm almost one hundred percent sure you don't want me to do that. You wouldn't want me coked out here, would you, Oliver? Not around so many breakable things. Most of them being antiques. Or worse, you wouldn't want me hurting her, would you?"

"What do you want from me, Francois?" Oliver growled.

"You know what I want," Francois stood his ground, "Let me see her. Now."

"Well…" Oliver thought it over for a moment or two. Is this it? Is this when I get to get the fuck out of here and go home? Wherever that might be these days? Because I wouldn't exactly oppose to being cut out of the zip ties. Or out of the fucking diapers, "Only and ONLY if you're supervised."

"That's fine with me."

"She's scheduled for a nap soon." Yeah. Nap. Courtesy of the Midozolam you planned on shooting me up with, "So, make it quick."

"Fine."

"Wait there," Oliver started walking back toward the kitchen. He got a pair of scissors out of the drawer and cut me loose from the zip ties, "Mention none of this to Francois, Amelia. You're going to be the good girl I know you are for me and anything he asks, you'll barely answer. Just enough to remain polite. Do you understand? We don't need Francois having a relapse."

"Yes," I was just happy to see Francois again. Someone I know is on my side.

"Good girl," Oliver cradled my cheek in the palm of his hand, a little smile on his face, "You're my little girl. Whether he wants to admit it or not. You were the family I found on my own when my other family abandoned me. You're. Mine."

"Oliver," Francois called from the entrance, "Can I come in yet?"

"Yes," Oliver allowed, going back to the kitchen sink. He scoured the cabinets for a brief moment while Francois took the seat across from me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he just smiled at me, "I wish you would've called first, darling. I would've made tea."

"Never really cared for tea," Francois wrote him off, studying me closely. No doubt, he's making sure I'm in one piece. Francois looked closely into my eyes, then down at my arms. He kept his hands to himself, though. In all seriousness, I'm a bit surprised.

"You know…" Oliver kept his voice down, "I think I still have a bag of French roast coffee in the cupboard."

"Really?" Francois let out a little gasp. No. Francois, do not let him suck you back in. We've been over this. You know what he's capable of.

"Of course," Oliver swore, "I'm not going to just get rid of it. That'd be wasteful…You wouldn't want any, would you?"

"Don't trouble yourself," Francois brushed him off, "I don't need it."

"It's no trouble at all," Oliver plugged in the coffee pot and grabbed the beans and the coffee grinder from the upper cabinets, "You really should know better than that."

"Really, Oliver," Francois stopped him, "I don't want any."

Oliver ignored his rejection and continued on, "Two sugars, splash of cream, right, Francois?"

"Mostly black these days," Francois knew there would be no fighting him. Oliver was going to do it whether he said yes or no. It was the formality. Instead of arguing over his coffee, Francois turned his attention to me, "Are you alright, Amy?"

I had to be careful. I knew Oliver was listening and hanging onto every word that came out of our mouths, despite having his back toward us. I couldn't let him know I was begging for help. Instead, I broke into erratic blinking patterns, hoping it'd get through to Francois, "Yeah. I'm fine."

"How'd you even know we'd be here, Francois?" Oliver wondered, pouring the water into the coffee pot. The smell of freshly ground coffee filled the air. I missed that smell.

"Francis called," Francois explained, "He said something about you having someone hostage in here and I thought I'd see what the fuss was about. You know, Amy, your mother worries about you."

"My mother?" I gave him a strange look. I doubt my mom even knows I'm gone. But I don't think Francois was talking about her.

"Your birth mother," Francois clarified, "I'm sure you'll meet soon."

"And what makes you say that, Francois?" Oliver's grip on the cup tightened.

"Oliver," Francois held his face in his hands, "You know you can't keep her."

"Why?" Oliver snapped. I never saw him pissed off much, but when I did, it scared the shit out of me. That's when bad things happen, "Are you going to take her away from me like you did Matthieu and Allen?"

"I never took them away from you, Oliver," Francois defended himself, "They chose to leave. They couldn't stand you smothering them either. And they went with me. Don't be pissed at me for their decision. I didn't make it for them. Now, am I going to have to tell her or have you already told her that?"

"Told her what?" Oliver was ready to go for the throat here.

"You know what," Francois had a dirty smirk on his face, "Should I tell her?"

"There's nothing to tell her," Oliver was hiding something. I could see it all over his face. Francois mentioned some dirt and his cheeks lost their usual rosy tone.

"This is really how we're doing it," Francois took my hand and helped me onto my feet, "Say goodbye to Uncle Oliver, Amy. We'll be leaving now."

"Uncle?" I perked up.

"That's right, cheri," Francois nodded, "Uncle. Allons."

"No," Oliver grabbed me by the wrist, his kung-fu grip leaving red marks around his fingers…and a sharp pain through my wrist, "You're not taking her from me, Francois. You know what I'll do."

"You know how protected this girl is," Francois popped open his ring, revealing the white powder underneath it, "Especially after a hit of this."

"You're not taking my little girl from me!" Oliver screeched, trying to pull me away from him.

But then, Francois took a big snort from that ring and grabbed me, holding me tight to his chest, "Yes. I am. You're going to stay right here. You're not going to follow us. You're not going to track her. You're not going to try and contact her. You go near her and you will answer for it. I promise you, Oliver Kirkland, it will not end pretty for you. If you want to keep that impish little face of yours in one piece, I suggest never coming back."

While Oliver was in his frozen and stunned state, Francois took me outside and threw me in the passenger seat of Alfred's car. That's a good sign. The familiarity put me at ease, but the fact that Francois was high on cocaine didn't, "Francois…"

"What is it, cheri?" Francois started driving away. For someone who just did cocaine, he was strangely level headed.

"Was…" I wondered, "Did you really just snort cocaine?"

"Relax, Amy," he settled me, "It's not cocaine. It's powdered sugar. It's not like Oliver would know the difference. Besides, if I brought you back to your family while I was high, I'd never hear the end of it. And quite frankly, I don't want to deal with a Francis Bonnefoy patented lecture. I'd rather be getting a high colonic than that. Are you alright?"

"You came for me," I smiled.

"No," Francois hushed me, "We're not doing the sentimental bullshit right now. I didn't come here out of the goodness of my own heart, Amy. I was asked to come here. No one else knew where Oliver's cottage was and I wasn't putting Allen and Matt through that. They didn't deserve it. So, my brother called me and asked nicely for me to go get you."

"Thank you," I curled up in my seat, "So, if you're not taking me back to Oliver's house…"

"Fuck no."

"Where are you taking me?" I asked. Was I trading one kidnapper for another? I mean, at this point, I'm pretty sure Francois is the lesser of two evils. I sure as hell don't want to go back to Oliver. But I couldn't help but be curious.

"I'm taking you home, Amy," Francois promised, "Your real home. I know this must be a lot to take in, but I'll explain everything then. It's not exactly something that can be sorted out here."

"Ok," I let it go. Right now, anywhere could be home for me. I just wanted to get my eyes on everyone else and make sure they were ok. Francois seemed to have had Oliver frozen in terror in his cottage. Hopefully, he'll be dealt with. Swiftly. But one thing needed to be taken care of before we went any further, "Hey, Francois?"

"What?"

"You wouldn't have happened to bring a change of clothes with you," I crossed my fingers, "Did you?"

"No," Francois turned off the dirt road, inching closer to civilization, "Why?"

"Do you think we could stop at Flavio's then?" I requested, "Because this dress is hot and itchy and I either need to make some modifications or get it off."

"Do we have to?" he grumbled, "Don't get me wrong. I don't have a problem with Flavio, but he tries to make me a project every time we see each other. I'd rather not."

"He doesn't need to know you're here," I bargained, "You could stay downstairs while I go in."

"And leave you with Flavio unattended?" Francois scoffed, "Mon dieu. I don't think so."

"Fine," I did have another idea, but I think Francois would be cooler with me seeing Flavio unattended. It's worth a shot, "Do you think we could stop at Oliver's then?"

Francois slammed on the breaks. It's a good thing this was a back road, "Why the fuck would you want to go back there?"

"Because," I told him, "I have shit there I can change into. This is miserable and I need it off pronto. I promise I'll be in and out."

He thought it over, easing down on the gas pedal, "Fine. In and out, Amy. I don't need to be going into flashbacks."

"Alright."

I really was proud of how far Francois had come. And for little old me. When we pulled up to Oliver's house, I bolted inside and up the stairs, grabbing everything that had my name on it. I left the dress on the stairs and ran practically naked to the guest room. Where was it? Where was it? I know he wouldn't have let me take that with me. And then, there it was. Ask and ye shall receive, Amy. I found a short, black skirt and Allen's Rage t-shirt he gave me. Damn, I looked good. Never in my life did I think I'd ever be so grateful for the feeling of underpants.

Even more important, I found a black jacket with a little popsicle pinned to it. There's what I was looking for. I threw Allen's jacket back on and ran back outside. Francois didn't look too worse for wear. And I may have been in there for about ten minutes. Well…Time to go meet the family. The real family.


	28. Family First

The quiet in the car was unnerving. Riding in Alfred's Mustang without Allen driving didn't make things better. Anything was better than Oliver, but this…I had so many questions that were going unanswered. I had Francois, though. I didn't think I'd ever have Francois, but here we are. He has to know something. He wouldn't have had that much power over Oliver without knowing anything. It didn't hurt to ask, right?

"Francois…" I spoke softly, so I didn't spook him, "What do you know?"

"I know almost nothing," Francois kept his eyes on the road, practically ignoring me, "I've fried a lot of brain cells over the years, Amy. Stay away from drugs."

"Francois…" I wasn't buying it. I mean, I know Francois has likely fried a lot of brain cells over the years, but that didn't mean he was clueless, "Why am I so special?"

"Everyone's special in their own way," he avoided me yet again, "If you believe that after school special bullshit."

"Francois," I started getting pissed, "Tell me. What do you know? You called Oliver my uncle back there. How is he my uncle?"

"You want to know?" Francois let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, "Because heaven forbid you wait to find these things out. Look, Amy, Oliver's your uncle in the same way I am. On both accounts. You're not _just _Amelia Williams. Hell, your last name isn't even Williams by birth. That was your adoptive name. And technically, your brothers' last name. Two of the four of them anyway."

"I have brothers?" I wondered.

"Mon dieu," he groaned, "You haven't figured it out yet? Yes, Amy. You have brothers. Four of them. Two of them are more immediate than the others, though. Ever wonder why you and Allen got along so well so quickly?"

"I thought it was our magnetic personalities."

"No," Francois shook his head, pulling into a paved driveway where a French colonial sat, "Amy, you, Allen, Alfred…You're not just a person. You're a nation."

"A…Nation?" I gave him a look, "I don't understand."

"You're American, right?"

"Yeah."

"No, you're not," Francois clarified, "You're _America__. _You and Allen and Alfred, the three of you make up America. You're America personified. I still remember the day you were born…It was a warm July afternoon. Arthur called me in panic because Francis had gone into labor and…"

"Wait a second," I thought back to my anatomy classes in high school, "Your _brother _Francis?"

"It's complicated," he went on, "Because he's a nation, Francis, Arthur, me. We have both sets of reproductive organs. With us, there's no such thing as male or female. We're all window dressing. Some of us are more rigid than the others. Some are the full spectrum. At the end of the day, we let them be them."

"Right on."

"And this house in front of us?" Francois pointed out, "This is where your birth parents live."

"You know," I stared down at my feet, "I've never met my birth parents before."

"I don't remember mine," he glanced down at his phone, "Merde…Look, Amy. Arthur's worried shitless about you. Francis is probably even worse. Don't even get me started on your brothers. Allen…Mon dieu. I've never heard him so annoying. Him bitching at me for smoking in the house would've been better."

"What can I say?" I shrugged, showing off the two halves of the popsicle, "He's my best friend."

"He's your older brother."

"He's _older _than me?!" I never would've guessed that in a million years.

"His lack of maturity hides his age well," Francois figured, "That and his wickedly long skincare routine. High maintenance little shit. That was Oliver's fault. One thing Allen never shook after we left him."

"I can understand why." Whatever the fuck it was Oliver was putting on my face (and I'm assuming Allen's and Matt's, too) did absolute wonders for my skin. I regret not getting the name of it while I was back at Oliver's getting dressed, but I had more important things on my mind, "Hey…Francois…Can I ask you one more question?"

"If you feel you must."

I felt an emptiness in the pit of my stomach, "Why did they give me up? If Arthur and Francis are so worried about me now, why would they have ever put me up for adoption?"

"That I don't know," Francois swore, "Really and truly, I don't know. Francis never talked about it with me and I knew better than to open that wound. Besides, that meant conversation with Francis I didn't want in the first place and even worse, probably fucking crying I don't want to deal with. We'll just let them answer that one. Go on, Amelia. They're waiting in there for you. Whenever you're ready."

"Ok…" Now that we were parked, I couldn't help myself. I threw my arms around Francois, hugging him tight.

"Uh…" he looked down at me, "Ok? What the fuck is this?"

"Thank you, Francois," I held back all the tears I could, "Thank you for coming to save me. Thank you for getting me out of Oliver's hands. Fuck, for snorting powdered sugar for me. I know it was probably hard for you, but it's not going to go unappreciated. Just…Thank you."

"Uh…" Francois wasn't sure how to handle my sudden outburst of affection, but he took it anyway, gently squeezing me back, "You're welcome. Now, go on before your mother sees us. I don't want him to think this is going to be a new regular thing."

"Ok," I pushed my car door open and started walking up to the front porch. Alright, Amy. You've never had a problem meeting new people before. Just because you're about to meet your birth parents doesn't make it any different. I mean, I know it makes a fucking world of difference, but if I don't tell myself that, I won't believe it, right? And I'll be less freaked out by this whole affair? But according to Francois, Alfred and Allen are here, too, right? So, it's not like I'm totally alone. And I do have Francois backing me up.

Slowly, I opened the door, trying not to sweat through my t-shirt and into Allen's jacket. Happy place, Amy. Happy place. Anywhere that isn't Oliver's. That's pretty fucking happy to me, "Allen…? Alfred…?"

"Amelia?" a gentle gasp came from around the corner. Along with a man that looked exactly like Oliver. Just…without the insane diabetes anyone in a five mile radius got from him. His eyes started to swell and a few tears ran down his cheeks. Another man stood behind him, taking his hand, "Francis…Our…"

"Amelia!" the other man hugged me tight. Jesus Christ, he looked like if Francois spent six months in rehab and found God. You must be Francis. The two of them sandwiched me in the biggest hug I've ever had.

For the first time in…possibly ever…I felt so loved. So protected. Like nothing in the world could ever hurt me. And for whatever reason, I found myself crying with them. So, these two were my birth parents, huh? Yeah. I think I could get used to them. Was this what a sense of home felt like? Permeance? A family? Because after the shit that I've been through in the last few months, I don't think I'll ever forget what that feels like.

"Get the fuck off her," a familiar voice set me totally at ease. And there was the last piece of this puzzle. The only thing missing.

I looked over Arthur's shoulder at the worried face of my best friend, "Allen…Allen!"

Immediately, I wiggled out of their embrace and threw myself into Allen's arms, my crying only getting worse. He held me as tight as he could, "Hey, Amy…"

"I tried, Allen," I bawled, "I tried to get away. I wanted to run away from him, but I couldn't. Not without people I love getting hurt."

"Shh…" Allen soothed me, "I know, Ames, I know. It's alright. You're ok now. I promise. Oliver's not going to get near you ever again. There's no fucking way any of us are going to allow it. You're going to be ok."

"Amelia…" Arthur stepped in, "Do you think we could talk?"

"Yeah," I wiped my eyes, "But it's…Amy. Amy…Jones, from what I understand."

"That's right," Allen confirmed, running his fingers down my spine, "Amy, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so bad. But…That would've meant freaking you out and I couldn't do that to you. Not when things between us were going so well. I didn't want to ruin it."

"I understand," I let him have that one, "But…It's…Arthur, right?"

"Yes," Arthur nodded, "I'm assuming you've heard about me from my brother."

"Yeah," I remembered everything Oliver said to me about Arthur. And now, I understood why Arthur was the bad man, "We can talk. But only if you and Francis answer a question for me first."

"Of course, cheri," Francis assured, "Anything you'd like. I'm sure you have quite a few you want to ask us."

"Good," I moved into the living room in need of somewhere to sit. 

"Come on, Allen," Francois stood in the doorway, "We should probably be getting home."

"It's not too much trouble, Francois," Francis offered, "You and Allen can stay here for the night. Alfred and Mattie are going to be back by tomorrow morning. Besides, it is kind of late."

Francois gave his brother a skeptical look, "If we stay here, do you promise me you'll leave me alone? And I won't wake up in the morning with you standing over my bed?"

"Promise." What the fuck kind of family have I fallen into?

"Well then," Arthur brought the conversation back, "What was it you wanted to ask, Amy?"

"This might not be an easy question to hear," I began, "But…Why did you and Francis give me up for adoption?"

I could see it all over their faces. Arthur and Francis were heartbroken. Francis slipped his hand into Arthur's, unable to speak. But that didn't stop Arthur from answering me, "Because we were trying to keep you safe, Amy. We didn't want Oliver getting you. He had already attempted to go after Alfred and Mattie. We couldn't let him try for you, too. We love you, darling. And we've missed you so much."

"We're so happy to have you back in our lives," Francis pulled himself together, "And we don't have to worry about Oliver. Don't get me wrong, mon amour. I understand he's your brother, but…"

"No," Arthur put his finger up to Francis's mouth, "Hush. We've been over this, frog. Oliver, as much as I love him, is an absolute powder keg. And he'll do it with a smile. Now, I know there's a lot for you to take in, Amy. I'm sure you're tired. Why don't you get some rest?"

"That sounds like a fucking wonderful idea," I swooned, suddenly realizing what I said and wincing out of reflex, "Sorry. Please tell me you guys don't have a swear jar, too."

"Can't say we do," Arthur assured, "I know. Oliver's is rather annoying, yeah?"

"Oh, god, yes," Allen agreed, rolling his eyes.

"He gave up with me," Francois chuckled to himself, "I don't have to pay to the swear jar anymore. Haven't since we had you and Matt."

"How'd you get so lucky?" Allen scoffed.

"He had a blind love for me," Francois shrugged, "And he's a slut for a project. If I still had a little rebellious streak in me, it meant he had something to do."

"Your brother concerns me," Francis cuddled into Arthur's shoulder.

"Yours, too," Arthur giggled.

"But you're right, Angleterre," Francis got up, "Come with me, Amy. I'll show you where you can sleep tonight. We'll talk more in the morning."

"Ok." In all honesty, I was pretty tired. Then again, it's Oliver. Oliver can be rather taxing on someone's nerves.

"I'll go with you," Allen offered.

"My, my, Allen," Francis teased, "I didn't think you'd be so bold."

"She's my fucking sister, you pervert," Allen groaned, "And we've been hella close since we met. Hell, she's already stealing my clothes from me."

"Really?" Francis looked me over.

"The jacket is Allen's," I took it off and gave it back, "Thank you. I thought Oliver was going to lose his shit over that. You should've seen it, Allen. His heart stopped."

"Good," Allen smiled, "Let him be scared."

"Upstairs with you," Francis insisted, shooing us toward the entrance.

"Good night, Amy," Arthur smiled, sending me off to bed, "Sleep well, love."

"Good night," I think this is going to work out alright. I mean, it's going to take a little while to get used to Arthur and not panic, thinking he's Oliver, but everything's going to take a little time.

Allen and I followed Francis upstairs into an empty bedroom. Without even thinking about it, I peeled my shirt and my skirt off, stripping to my underwear. Instantly, Francis covered his eyes, "Mon dieu, Amelia. You might take after your mother more than we thought you would."

"Francis," Allen had his eyes covered, too, "Aren't you her mother?"

"By technicality," Francis confirmed, "Like I said, she takes more after her mother than I thought she would. My money would've been her taking after Arthur, but here we are with her half naked in front of us."

"And that's something I get from you?" I assumed.

"Exhibition runs in the family, cheri."

"It's not like I have pajamas here," I pointed out, "I'm a little warm, so sue me for stripping down to my undies. It's not the end of the world. Besides, I know Allen's sexual orientation and that we share blood and Francis, I'm pretty sure you're in the same boat. Neither one of you are going to care."

"She has a fair point, Francis," Allen agreed.

"Yeah," Francis nodded, "Still. You could've given us some sort of warning, Amy."

"Sorry," I crawled into bed.

"And how bold of you to assume you don't have pajamas here," Francis went into the closet and grabbed a pair of shorts and a tank top with no rhyme or reason to them. Thank God. No pastel colors. No little animals on them. This is definitely not Oliver's house.

"Thank you," I got redressed. As nice as it would've been to sleep half naked tonight, pajamas just set the mood.

"You're welcome," Francis tucked me into bed, "You've had a long day, mon petite. Get some sleep, oui?"

"I will," I could already feel my eyelids getting heavier.

"Allen," Francis gave me one little kiss on the forehead. Oh, yeah. I can get used to this, "Say good night to Amy and let her go to sleep."

"Yeah," Allen nodded, "But Francis, do you think you could give us a minute? Alone?"

"Sure," Francis allowed, "Good night, Amy. Je t'aime."

"Je t'aime," I melted inside. I knew almost nothing for French, but I knew enough to know when someone's telling me they love me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think a tear just fell out of his eye. Francis left Allen and me alone.

"Could you move over a little?" Allen crawled into bed next to me.

"What do you think you're doing?" I wondered, moving closer to the wall.

"Did you really think I was going to leave you by yourself?" he scoffed, wrapping his arms around me, "Amy, my first night away from Oliver, I would've killed for something like this. For someone to hold onto me and let me know everything was going to be ok. Not to mention, I've been worried sick for the last three days. I had no fucking clue where you had gone off to. I didn't know if you were alive or dead. I am not leaving you tonight. And…Well…I kind of missed you."

"Relax, Allen," I settled him, curling into his shoulder, "I get it. You're worried about me. I never said I was kicking you out of my bed. You're more than welcome to stay here. I appreciate your concern, but I'm sure I'd be fine by myself. If you need to stay here, then fuck, man, stay here. I'm not going to stop you. I missed you, too. Sure, before all this shit went down, you were kind of a pain in my ass. But you were still my pain in the ass. I love you, Allen. I mean, my god, you're my brother. It's still weird for me to wrap my head around, but that doesn't stop it from being true. You and Alfred. And now, I get even more why it was weird to think Alfred had a nice ass for both of us."

"See?" Allen gave me a little nudge, "You know, sometimes, I think about what it would've been like if we all grew up together. Chaotic, but it'd be a hell of a ride."

"Hold on," I wondered, "Since you're my brother, does that mean Matt's my brother, too?"

"Sort of," he explained, "Don't get me wrong, Ames, I love you to pieces. But you're more of a sister to Alfred than you're a sister to me. Biologically speaking. They'll be here tomorrow morning probably."

"Ok." I've never met Mattie before. I've heard all about him, but I've only met Alfred and Matt.

"But Francis was right," Allen pulled the blankets over us, "You really should get some sleep. Oliver didn't…juice you with anything…did he?"

"It's already been out of my system," I assumed, "Just some light sedatives. Xiao knows more about it than I do, if you're looking to ask questions."

"I'll call him in the morning," he let out a little yawn, "But for serious. Sleep."

"My pleasure," I shut my eyes, "Good night, Allen."

"Good night, Amy," Allen kissed the top of my head and hugged me tight. Was this what home felt like? Because I'm pretty sure this was what people mean when they talk about the feeling of home. I can't quite describe it, but I could feel something in the deepest corners of my heart. Something warm. And I didn't want it to ever go away.


	29. Maple Syrup

I know I said sleeping in the guest bed at Oliver's house was a magical experience, but there was something even better about sleeping in Francis and Arthur's guest room. Well, I suppose it could be mine now. But I also remember the last guest room that became mine. Technically, it was attached to Oliver's room to probably keep a better eye on me. We weren't thinking about that anymore. One day, I'll be able to deal with what happened in the healthiest way possible. For now, though, we suppress the shit out of it.

A warm body pressed against my back and an arm pulled me closer. Never in a million years did I think I'd be waking up in Allen's arms, yet here I am. I guess he wasn't joking when he said he wasn't leaving my side last night. However, as sweet as this was, I was hotter than hell and needed to piss like a racehorse. The cuddles were nice, but in the right context. Besides, at the end of the day, Allen was still my brother. Slowly, but surely, I peeled his arm off me. Thank you, Allen. I know you would've killed for something like this after you got away from Oliver, but I get to pee in a big girl potty for a change. I'm going to do it.

Once I got out of the bathroom, a sweet smell hit my nose. And more…Cinnamon, maybe? Definitely vanilla. My stomach dropped to my feet. No. It can't be him. He wouldn't dare show his face around here. Would he? Not in front of my birth parents. Not in front of Francois. And sure as fuck not in front of Allen. Those two had history that I knew one of them wanted to forget about. No. Relax, Amy. Oliver's not here. He's not going to be. I'm ok.

Still, I treaded lightly into the kitchen and saw a man at the stove. He kind of looked like Alfred from the back. Only a little softer and with longer hair. So, that was the culprit. Whoever he was, his cooking smelled fantastic. I took a seat at the island in the kitchen and waited to see how long it would take for him to notice I'm here. Minutes went by and he never turned. Not once. Not to get anything or to turn anything on or off. He stood at the stove. Alright. The quiet was maddening. I had to do something about it.

"Hi…" I spoke softly. Just because he didn't realize I was there didn't mean I wanted to scare the shit out of him.

"Oh…" he jumped a bit, turning around. When I finally saw his face, every part of me wanted to run up to him and hug him. He seemed so sweet, "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No," I settled him, "You're fine. What's your name?"

"I'm Mattie," he introduced himself.

"Wait," I gasped, "_You're _Mattie?"

"I know," he giggled to himself. Oh my god, I adore him, "Most people think I'm Alfred. That is, if they see me at all."

I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I got up from my barstool and threw myself into Mattie's chest, hugging him tight. Yep. Just as I imagined it'd be. He's like hugging a marshmallow. And I loved it, "It's an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mattie."

"Not that the hug isn't nice," Mattie asked, "But who are you?"

"I'm Amy," I clarified, sitting back down, "I mean…Amelia, but if you call me Amelia, I may have to hit you. I'm Alfred and Allen's sister."

"I've heard all about you!" he chimed, yet barely spoke over a whisper, "If you're Allen and Alfred's sister, in a way, you're mine, too."

"I suppose so." I think I'm going to like it here.

"Are you ok?" Mattie worried, "Along with hearing about you, I heard about what happened with…"

"Yeah," I cut him off, totally not wanting to go down that route this early in the morning, "I'm fine. At least, I will be. Eventually. We'll see what years of therapy can do when I'm ready for it."

"That must have been awful," he winced, "I know Papa can be overbearing sometimes, but he'd never get that bad."

"Hey, Mattie," I quickly changed the subject before I started spewing about Oliver, "You're…Canada…Aren't you?"

"That's right," Mattie nodded.

"So," I figured, "You're Matt's brother?"

"That's right," he confirmed, "Have you met Matt already?"

"And Allen," I nodded, "They've both scammed me out of coffee a time or two because they're little shits."

"What?" I might as well have punched Mattie's puppy, "I'm so sor…"

"No," I stopped him, "Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, but…"

"Then, that's the end of that," I smiled a little, "Besides, that was at my old job. I did end up paying for them in the end, though."

"But," Mattie went on, "I am sorry that Matt can be kind of an asshole sometimes. It's part of his charm. It's the same thing with Francois. They can both be…really exasperating."

"I like Matt, though," I admitted, "Francois, too. I mean, Francois was the one that brought me here, so I can't exactly hate him. And Matt has saved me from Francois before, so…Deep down in their cores, I think they have the potential in them to be good people."

"That's sweet of you, Amy," he awed, "You're right. Matt can be a sweetheart when he wants to be. Especially if he's not denying his medication that day."

Wow. That apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it? Before the conversation could get sad, I glanced over Mattie's shoulder, "What are you making?"

"Pancakes," Mattie flipped another one, "Papa always complains when I don't make crepes, but there's something special about pancakes. You can't binge eat pancakes and still feel like you haven't eaten anything, eh? There's not enough substance to crepes. When I was younger and Papa would make crepes for breakfast, I'd always stack mine."

"You still do," Francis joined us.

"Morning, Papa," Mattie's face lit up.

"Good morning, petite," Francis kissed his cheek, only to do the same to me shortly after, "And good morning to you, too, cheri."

"Morning, Francis," I melted inside.

"Did you sleep well?" Francis took the empty stool next to me.

"For the most part, yeah," I nodded, "Allen wouldn't leave me alone, but he's a little protective of me. I'm not surprised. I wouldn't be shocked that if Alfred were here, too, I would've been sandwiched between them."

"That is one thing about them," Francis admitted, "Once they find one of their own, they hold on and they will keep you safe. I'm glad they've ingratiated you into the family so quickly."

"I had a world history class with Allen before I met any of the others," I pointed out, "Even then, he had a soft spot for me."

"It's because he likely knew," Francis assumed, "You do look strikingly like your brother on our side of the family, Amy. If Alfred let his hair grow out, shrunk about six inches, and wasn't flat chested."

"Very nice," I held my face in my hands, "Hey, you guys wouldn't happen to have any coffee, would you?"

"There's a bag of beans to the right of the stove," Mattie directed me, "But they'll have to be ground."

"Grinder's in the island," Francis reached over and opened the cabinet.

"What about a milk steamer?" I crossed my fingers, "You have to have one of those, too."

"It's next to the coffee grinder."

My heart started racing. It's worth a shot, "And a French press?"

Francis got up and hugged me tight, "There. French press."

"Not that kind of French press," I giggled, "An actual French press. You're silly, Francis."

"Your father calls it annoying," Francis laughed with me, "But at the end of the day, I know he secretly loves it, too. The French press is down there, too."

"What do you need all that stuff for, Amy?" Mattie asked, "Why can't you just use the coffee pot?"

"Honestly, Matthew," Francis let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, "Have I not taught you better?"

"I need to make my coffee," I explained, "And I need to do it right. I haven't been able to make a decent cup of coffee in ages. Oliver didn't like me having caffeine in my body. Hell, he didn't even like me drinking coffee as a whole. I told you about Matt and Allen scamming coffee from me, Mattie. That's because I used to work in a coffee shop before Oliver probably had it shut down."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because," I went on, "If I had an income, that meant me not being totally dependent on him."

"Oliver does have some demons," Francis agreed, "But go on, Amy. Be my guest. My French press is your French press."

"Thank you," I stood on my toes and reached into the upper cabinet for the coffee beans. Unfortunately, I couldn't reach, so logic told me to climb onto the counter. Yet again, damn my shortness. Mattie took another pancake out of the pan and reached up with ease, grabbing the coffee beans for me, "Fucking show off."

"I'm sorry, Amy," Mattie chuckled under his breath, "It's alright that you're small. All you had to do was ask. I would've gladly gotten them from you."

"Thank you," I opened up the bag and took a ten second inhale. Hello, old friend. How I've missed you so, "Hey, Francis?"

"Oui, cheri," Francis perked up, "What is it?"

"Whose ass am I kicking for making me short?" I pouted, jumping down from the counter.

"Do you see these dancer's legs?" Francis scoffed, kicking his leg up onto the island, "Do you really think you'd get the short gene from me?"

"Dammit, Arthur," I grumbled.

"That doesn't really make any sense either," Francis thought it over, "Because the only other short one in the family is Dylan. Scott and Ciarán aren't exactly small."

"And who are they?" I asked, "In the grand scheme of things, if I'm considered America?"

"Wales, Scotland, and Ireland," Francis clarified, "They're your uncles on your father's side."

"Uncle Dylan's a good guy," Mattie chimed in, "He used to play with me all the time when I was little."

"That's because you and Uncle Dylan have something in common," Francis rested his head in his hand, "You're both overshadowed by your older siblings. With Dylan, it's Arthur and Scott and Ciarán. With you, it's Alfred. That's why he took such a shine to you, cheri. That and you're just so damn cute."

"Papa…" Mattie hid his face. His quickly reddening face. He is adorable.

I let those two get into their petty squabble. I had more…pressing matters to attend to. I hate myself for making that joke, but we're going to roll with it. My coffee wasn't going to make itself and my ass was already dragging. I didn't need that kind of negativity in my life. It's been weeks since I've been able to construct a good latte and I'll be damned if I don't get one in my veins in the next ten minutes. And I knew if I made one, I'd have to make at least three more. Mattie had a glass of orange juice next to the stove and Francis hadn't gotten up from the island. Going by my deduction, he's waiting on coffee, too.

Might as well, right? Carefully, I poured four cups of coffee. If my logic is correct here, Allen's going to want one. Francois is going to need one more than anyone. Francis may want one (he's got all the shit for making a damn good cup of coffee. There's no way he doesn't drink it.). And if Arthur is anything like Oliver (which, I'm praying to all things holy, it's only in good ways.), he's going to want tea over coffee. I threw some milk in the steamer and got to work. My best time is a little over two minutes. Let's see if I can beat it.

"Morning, Ames," Allen came in and kissed my cheek.

"Morning," I stayed focused on my task at hand. It's really too bad Francis didn't have an espresso machine. I'd kill for some of that, too. My usual coffee was an iced Americano, but unfortunately, I lack the espresso. Oh, well. I can handle a simple latte, too.

"Jesus Christ…" Allen sat next to Francis, watching in total awe, "The fuck is her problem this morning?"

"She's an artist at work, Allen," Francis kept watching, too. I liked the sound of that. An artist at work. If I wanted to, I could do latte art and really impress them, but since I needed some coffee in my body as soon as humanly possible, I'm not doing latte art.

"Spazz," Allen teased.

"Hey," I snapped, "I'm not the only spazz in this family. Have you just met Alfred?"

"You just met Alfred," Allen argued.

"But I got him pegged," I poured carefully from the French press into a cup that sure as hell was not deep enough, but for now, I had to make do, "Don't I?"

"Yeah," Allen admitted defeat, "Since you got coffee going, Amy, how much do you love me?"

"Depends on the day."

"Thanks, Amy," Allen pouted, "Love you, too."

"What do you want, Allen?"

"Francis," Allen asked, "Do you happen to have any almond milk?"

"I think we do, actually," Francis assumed, "Why?"

"Amy…" Allen tried breaking my concentration, "Do you think you could do a brother a solid and…"

"TIME!" I put my hands up, adrenaline pumping through my body, and immediately looked for a clock. Three minutes. Shit. Oh, well. I have the feeling that I'd be getting another opportunity for redemption real quick, "Alright. Now, what did you want, Allen?"

"I was just going to ask for my usual order," Allen backed off, "What the hell was that all about?"

"It's nothing," I brushed him off, "Back when I was working at the café, my boss used to time me on how fast I could throw a latte together. My best time was two minutes. I did mine in three. Yeah. I'll make you some, too, Allen. That's no big deal."

"Thank you," Allen got the almond milk from the fridge and slid it across the island.

"But I'm not making donuts," I stipulated, "I haven't even had my first cup this morning and don't have that kind of energy."

"I don't want donuts," Allen shot me down, "Mattie's making pancakes."

"They're regular pancakes, Allen," Mattie chimed in, "Sorry. Nothing in these are plant based aside from the flour. And the vanilla."

"Dammit," Allen grumbled, "I miss the café."

"I miss it, too," I sighed out, already starting on Allen's. I didn't have it in me to time this one.

"Hang in there, Amy," Francis did his best to comfort me, "I'm sure you'll find a new job soon enough. Maybe if you're lucky enough, the old owner of that café will buy a new building and open up another one."

"A girl can dream, I guess."

"It'd be a shame if something like that were put to waste, cheri," Francis applauded, "That looks fantastic."

"Thank you, Francis," I took a well-deserved bow.

The shuffle of tired feet echoed into the kitchen, along with a still half asleep Arthur, "Good mor…"

His greeting was cut off by the slam of the front door opening, "GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE! HOW'S IT HANGING, MY DUDES?"

"A little quieter next time, Alfred," Francis insisted, pulling Arthur into his shoulder, "Good morning, Angleterre."

"AMY!" Alfred threw his arms around me, "I'm so glad to see you're ok."

"It's good to see you, too, Alfred," I struggled for air, "I'd rather not be snapped in half this morning."

"You're here awfully early, Alfred," Mattie noticed, "What's the occasion?"

"I had to check in on the little one," Alfred's grip loosened. But only slightly. Luckily for me (and my possibly disfigured spine), Alfred's train of thought took a hard left turn, "Awesome! Pancakes! How long have you been here, Mattie?"

"A couple hours," Mattie told him, "I asked you if you wanted to come with me, but you were still asleep."

Thump…

Thump…

Thump…

I looked toward the doorway and noticed a bitter figure standing there. Yet I still greeted him with a gentle and sincere smile, "Good morning, Fran…"

SMACK!

Francois's fist went into Alfred's cheekbone and without another word, Francois turned around and went back upstairs. Alfred didn't even get a chance to respond or hell, hit him back. Instead he blinked the stars out of his eyes, "What the hell was that for?"

"You had it coming," Arthur and Francois could see eye to eye.

"Arthur!" Francis rolled his eyes, getting something out of the freezer for Alfred's face, "I'm sorry, Alfred. Francois has been like that ever since we were little. He's not exactly one for early mornings."

"It's barely nine o'clock," Alfred pressed the ice pack against his face, "I wouldn't call that early."

"If it's anything before noon," Francis added, "It's too early for Francois. Unless he's hungover. Then, anything before four o'clock in the afternoon is too early for Francois. Next time, keep it down please."

"Francis," Arthur held his face in his hands, "We've been together for many, many, many years. We've had our boys for many, many years. In our time together, have you _ever _known Alfred to be the quiet one?"

"No."

"I can be quiet when I want to be!" Alfred whined, also proving Arthur's point.

"Hey, Mattie," I leaned over, "Is this a normal morning in this house?"

"I'd love to be able to say no," Mattie had a little smile on his face, "But I can't or I'd be lying."

"Normal is a relative term," Francis pointed out, "Have some breakfast, Amy."

"And after breakfast," Arthur decided, "We'll go sit in the living room and talk a little more. How does that sound?"

"Fine by me," I gave him a nod and put a kettle on the stove. If this is a prime example of how mornings are here, I think I'm going to do just fine. Sure, the family is kind of screwed up, but honestly, whose family isn't? Granted, theirs is probably a different dynamic and not composed of nations. Still, I'll take it. I'm going to have to. This is my home now, if I decide to stay. It's not like they can make me stay here. After what I went through with Oliver, I doubt they'd ever make me.


	30. Explaining Everything

"Alright," I sat down with Francis and Arthur in their living room, my head swimming with questions. Thank God, it was nothing like Oliver's place. I feel like I could sleep on this couch without them having a fit. No antique furniture, but it did have a sort of elegance to it. Not quite Grandma's house, but…It felt like home, "Start from the beginning."

"It all started one lovely evening," Francis got nostalgic, "Your father and I decided to take a little trip to…Merde, Arthur, where were we?"

"We went on holiday to…" Arthur thought it over for a brief moment, "I think, Acapulco."

"Was that the Acapulco trip?" Francis wondered.

"It was…"

"So, we took a trip to Acapulco," Francis went on, "The sun was setting on the ocean. The night air was absolutely perfect. And we had rented a little house not too far from the beach. Things between us before the trip weren't exactly…Let's just say, we were bickering and whining at each other more than either of us would have liked. He and I needed the time away. So, a friend of mine suggested we go somewhere that a cousin of his took care of and it was definitely its own slice of paradise."

"Rambling, frog," Arthur gave him a nudge, "Get on with it."

"Arthur and I had just come in from a wonderful dinner," Francis continued, "A walk on the beach. And you wouldn't know it to look at him because he has such a stick in his cute, little ass…"

"FRANCIS!"

"But," Francis pulled Arthur into his shoulder, doing his best to get him to settle down, "Even Arthur got swept up in the romance. I mean, that's not difficult for me to do. I'm fucking French. But mon cher Angleterre…He's a different story. When he gets caught up in a romantic moment. That's when things got a little more…heated."

"I know where babies come from," I stopped him before he could go on with that anymore, "You can spare me the details on how I was made."

"Then, we can skip to the part where you were brought into the world," Francis sat back with Arthur moving away from him. Aww…It's a shame. My birth parents made a cute couple when they got all close like that, "You, cheri, were not an easy one to bring into the world…"

"Francis," Arthur took his hand, noticing how his face had suddenly fallen, "You don't have to talk about that part…"

"It's alright, Arthur," Francis assured, trying to force a smile, "I want to. I know it's pouring salt into old wounds, but I can do it."

"What happened?" I worried. I didn't want to make him talk about it, but I couldn't help but be curious.

"I almost died," Francis remembered, "You had a hold of something in me and it started bleeding heavily when you came out. My blood pressure started dropping. My pulse was slowing. I still remember Arthur yelling at the doctor when they made him leave. The nurse had taken you already to make sure nothing was wrong with you. But then, I passed out from the pain and I don't remember much after that. I might have been technically dead for a few seconds before they restarted my heart again, but other than that, it's all blank."

"Maybe that's for the better," Arthur balled up on the other end of the couch.

"Arthur," Francis slid over to him, "I'm alright. I haven't had any problems since. Although, we haven't tried for babies after Amelia was born."

"There's a reason for that."

"Because I can't have them anymore," Francis sighed out, "If we're popping out another one, you're carrying them for nine months."

"I don't think so," Arthur shot him down, a little smile returning to his face. Good. I was hoping I'd have to diffuse a bad situation.

"What happened after that?" I asked, hopefully giving a good enough distraction from the sad shit.

"Then," Arthur moved next to me, "Then, Amy, we had you. We had a new bundle of joy and sunshine in our lives. And for a few months, we were so happy. Every so often, your brothers from our side would come over and make sure you were doing ok and that Francis was healing properly. The world was a beautiful place for those first few months…Then…"

"Arthur," Francis checked in, "Are you alright, mon amor?"

"Is this another sad part?" I figured.

"It depends on how one looks at it," Arthur went on, "A few months after you were born, because I didn't tell him Francis was pregnant or that you were even here already, Oliver managed to find out."

"That might have been my fault," Francis winced, "Because I told Francois. And I was so excited! We were having a baby! That's not exactly news I want to keep to myself. I want to scream it from the rooftops!"

"Oh, God," Arthur held his face in his hands, "Francis, I love you, but you're…so…_French._"

"Last time I checked," Francis blew him a little kiss, "Will you still love me, even though I'm French?"

"Is there not a prime example of me loving you sitting next to me?" Arthur pointed out, "If I didn't love you the night in Acapulco, we never would've had Amy in the first place."

"Oh, cheri," Francis smirked, "You know damn well that neither one of us is a stranger to hate sex. We could've wanted to kill each other that night. That wouldn't stop us."

"Again," I stepped in, "I don't need to hear the specifics."

"Anyway," Francis shot a quick wink over at Arthur. I'm starting to doubt that whole cute thing now. Because I'm a bit disgusted, "Francois must have been in the room with Oliver and…Well…On the phone, when I get a little too excited, I don't have an inside voice. Oliver had heard me and came straight here to see his new precious niece. I knew Oliver had a soft spot in his heart for kids, so I wasn't too concerned."

"We did take proper precautions that day, though," Arthur added, "We made sure that at least one of us was in the room with you two. And then…Oliver met you. He never had a baby before. When Francois and Oliver got Matt and Allen, they were already six years old. Oliver grew jealous of me. I had everything. I had a beautiful husband that I loved more than anything that didn't come home at two o'clock in the morning, blasted out of his mind. I had a brand new baby to love and nurture to the best of my ability. He wanted everything I had and underneath that façade of sugary sweetness and sunshine, he was cracking. And he didn't like that."

"A few hours after he left," Francis continued, "I got a call from Francois. He can pretend to hate me all he wants to, but when I'm not trying to take care of him, we actually do get along. He called me that night and said Oliver wouldn't shut up about you to the point of obsession. It was then we realized we needed to make sure you never fell into his hands. We loved you so much that we needed to hide you in order to keep you safe."

"And then," I sighed out, "I walked right into his arms."

"How were you supposed to know, darling?" Arthur put an arm around me, "You didn't know what he looked like. Or what either of us looked like. You were only three months old the last time we saw you. You weren't going to retain anything. But we met your adoptive parents."

"They were unassuming," Francis moved to my other side, "There'd be no way Oliver would find you with them. You looked just enough like them for them to pass you off as their own, if Oliver were to manage to find you when you were younger."

"How did Oliver manage to find you anyway?" Arthur wondered, "How did that even happen?"

"Arthur," Francis stopped him, "Are you really going to make her relive that just to satisfy your own curiosities?"

"That is kind of fucked up," I agreed, "It would've been better if you'd run it by me first. As much as I want to suppress that as much as humanly possible, I can tell you."

"Oh, good," Francis relaxed, "Because I kind of wanted to know, too."

These two were…a handful. But I'm sure I'll get used to them, "We met in the park. He must have gone out for a walk that night. I was sitting by myself on a bench, blood on my face. I was not a pretty sight."

"Bollocks…" Arthur called.

"No," I went on, "Really. My boyfriend and I had gotten into a big fight that night and I had blood all over my face. I don't want to meet the weirdo that finds that attractive."

"He hurt you?" Francis put his hand to my cheek, "How badly?"

"And do we have to kill him?" Arthur joked darkly. Oh…I didn't like that. I didn't like Arthur being like Oliver. I understand they're twins, but I don't like them sharing the same mentality.

"No…" I bit my lip, a crack in my voice, "I think Oliver took care of that already."

"Oh…" Arthur's tone changed. Ok. That's promising, "Oh, Amy…I'm sorry. I didn't know…"

"I know," I pulled myself together, "When I get a chance, I want to pay his mom a visit and make sure she's doing ok. I didn't get to go to the funeral. Oliver wouldn't let me. It was last week."

"So," Francis changed the subject, pulling me into his shoulder, "After your fight, what happened?"

"Oliver found me on that bench," I remembered, trying to shake the memory of the last time I ever saw him. He died before we got the chance to even reach civility, "He brought me back to his house to clean up the cuts on my face. Then, my boyfriend tried making up with me. Or so I thought. All I asked was for him to stop drinking, but unfortunately, he never did. I gave him a simple ultimatum. Either get sober or I'm walking. I walked. I told him to call me when he cleaned up. I guess he never did. After I found out he didn't give up drinking like he promised me he would, Oliver took me in. And I hate myself for it."

"No, no, no, cheri," Francis hugged me tight, "Don't you blame yourself for what happened with him."

"He's right," Arthur followed suit, "Oliver…Oliver is a special kind of creature. And I use special generously."

"None of what happened with Oliver matters now," Francis assured me, kissing the top of my head, "Because we have you now. And we'll make sure you stay safe. Ok?"

I swallowed the tears building in the back of my throat and gave them a nod, "Ok."

"Good," Francis did all he could to comfort me. Bless him, "So…What do we do now?"

"Do you think I could go see my adoptive parents?" I asked, "They need to know I'm ok."

"Absolutely," Arthur allowed without hesitation.

God only knows what Oliver did after I left. He knew where they lived. But he did seem pretty scared of Francois when he came to get me. Maybe he really did fall off the face of the Earth like Francois told him to. Paraphrasing, of course. Francois was a lot more colorful about it than I was. It wouldn't be me letting them know I'm ok. It's me needing to get an eye on them and make sure Oliver didn't get near them.

Knock, knock.

"Huh," Francis got up and headed toward the door. My heart started racing, "Arthur? Were you expecting company?"

"No," Arthur gave him a look, "Can't say that I was."

"Oh, God…" I tried to find a happy place. Don't let that be Oliver. Don't let that be Oliver. Don't let that be Oliver.

"Amy?" Arthur checked me over, "Are you alright?"

"No," I shook my head. Come on, Amy. Calm down. You have to calm down. You know what will happen if you don't. You just need to calm down.

"Are you, by chance, having a panic attack?" Arthur worried, taking my hand.

"I think so," I struggled for air. Yep. There it was.

"Shit…" I could see it all over his face. Arthur had no clue how to help me. Looks like I'm on my own for this one, "ALLEN!"

"What?" Allen came in with a juice box in his hand. But then, he looked over at me and vaulted the couch, "Oh, shit! Amy, look at me."

"What do you want?" I snapped at him.

"Do you trust me?" Allen asked, holding my face between his hands.

"Yeah…"

"Do you really think I'm going to let anything bad happen to you?" Allen shot me a glare, "When I'm right here by your side? I don't think so."

"I'm…" I felt my head getting heavier, "I need to know who's at the door."

"Did you bring what I asked for?" Francis asked whoever was here.

"Francis!" Arthur yelled, "Who is it?"

"Yes, Francis," a thick, Italian accent drifted through the air, "If you would, give me an entrance. I deserve to be announced!"

"Wait," I let out a sigh of relief. That's not Oliver, "Flavio?"

"AMY!" Flavio threw his arms around me, "I missed you so much, tesoro!"

Ok. Shit mood just turned into an AWESOME one, "I missed you, too. It's good to see a friendly face."

"I'm just happy to see you're ok," Flavio gushed, "And that you got away from Oliver."

"I actually thought for a minute that it was Oliver at the door," I confessed, "That's why I got so freaked out. Thank you, Arthur. You did exactly what you needed to."

"What?" Arthur scoffed, "Not be able to take care of my own daughter?"

"Not at all," I settled him, "You got me help when I needed it. So what if it was Allen that got me to calm down? What matters is that I'm not on the verge of hyperventilating anymore. I was taken care of. Who cares if it wasn't you?"

"I care!" Arthur grumbled, "I raised Mattie and Alfred. Why would you be any different?"

"Because," Allen explained, "You know Mattie and Alfred better than you know Amy at this point. Pull the stick out of your ass, Artie. It's not the end of the world."

"Oh, I like that one," Flavio awed, "Can I keep him?"

"No," Francois came stumbling down the stairs, not nearly as bitter as what he was before. Sure, he was just waking up, but he had a little more sleep in him. I'm not complaining, "You can't."

"Francois!" Flavio kissed his cheek, "It feels like forever since I saw you, too."

"Get off my dick, Wonder Twink," Francois nudged him away.

"He's without coffee, Flavio," Francis warned him, "Unless you want to be bitten, I'd stay away for a bit.

"Merci, frére," Francois leaned against the wall, "But as big of a pain in the ass Allen is, you can't keep him."

"Thanks, Francois," Allen melted, "I didn't realize you loved me."

"I didn't kill you or your brother," Francois pointed out, "Isn't that what love is?"

"So, Flavio," Arthur brought it back, "Is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Francis asked me to come over," Flavio told him, "He said to bring clothes for his little girl since all of her shit was still probably at Oliver's. You might want to get it back as soon as possible before he starts sniffing it and attempting voodoo."

"Thank you, Flavio," Arthur held his face in his hands, "Always a pleasure."

"I do what I can," Flavio curtseyed, "And for Amy, I'd do anything."

"Thank you, Flavio," I melted inside, "That's very sweet of you. What'd you bring me?"

"Not what I got for you when you were at my place last," he promised, "I brought you something a little less…revealing."

"Excuse me?" Francis perked up, "What did you put her in last time she was at your place?"

"I have pictures!" Flavio pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed them off to Francis, "She was a fucking smoke show when she left. She went out and partied with Allen that night to blow off some Oliver steam."

"Ooh," I winced, getting a phantom pain in my head, "I was drunk that night. I was _really _drunk that night."

"We both were," Allen felt my pain.

"We'll discuss that another time," Arthur scolded me. Rightfully so.

"Mon dieu," Francis blushed, "Amelia, we're going to have some words."

"What?" I whined, "I didn't do anything wrong. I had been Oliver's perfect barbie doll for three months. It was hell. I needed that to cleanse my soul."

"It's not the outfit," Francis assured, "It's how you pull it off. You have to get that from me. There's no way that's Arthur coming out in you."

"Oi…" Arthur pouted, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Our little girl is all grown up, Angleterre," Francis pointed out, showing him Flavio's phone, "And she's a natural in front of a camera, too, if I might add."

"Thank you, Francis," I beamed, taking pride in those pictures. Granted, they were a little weird at first, but I got over it. That was a night of liberation for me and I loved every second of it. Except for the nice police officer that took me back to Oliver by the end of the night.

"Are you going to need any help getting dressed, Amy?" Flavio offered.

"No," Francis shot him down, "I'm pretty sure we can handle it. But thank you, Flavio. Truly, your gift won't go unappreciated."

"Anytime," Flavio smiled, "And Amy…If you ever want to come play with me, you know where I live."

"Not without adult supervision," Arthur demanded, his hand over his eyes.

"Fine," Flavio's smile fell, "But only if it's the fun one."

"We'll be there," Francis promised.

"Yay!" And it's back again, "Well then, I'm off. While I'm in your neighborhood, I might as well check on Feliciano and Lovino."

"Send them my love."

"I will," Flavio waved behind him, "Arrivederci, tutti!"

And just like that, he flittered out of our lives. For the time being anyway. I'm sure he'll be back soon enough. Although, Arthur couldn't help but wonder, "Francis…"

"Yes, Angleterre?"

"Why in the _hell _did you call Flavio here?" Arthur rolled his eyes, "You couldn't find anything for Amy here? Or even sneak over to Oliver's and get her something?"

"Flavio likes a challenge," Francis shrugged, "And he's got a hell of an eye."

"It's true," I agreed, "He does."

"Would you rather have had me call Gilbert and Antonio?" Francis bargained, "I'm sure the three of us could've managed with something."

"The three of you without adult supervision is scary enough."

"Who are Gilbert and Antonio?" I wondered.

"Two of my best friends in the whole world," Francis gushed, "Did you ever meet their twins, Amy? Gilen and Andres?"

"I didn't get to meet Gilen," I told him, "But I kind of met Andres. I heard Flavio gush enough about Andres. And I've seen Antonio. Flavio showed me pictures. Holy shit…"

"Don't say that around Lovino," Francis warned me, "He might actually tear limbs off."

"There's no maybe about it," Francois clarified, "He could kill someone with his bare hands. I've never seen such a scrappy little shit like Lovino."

"Amy," Francis offered me his hand, "Would you care to come with me?"

"For what?" I asked.

"You need to get dressed yet," Francis pointed out, "Come on. I'm sure Flavio picked something nice for you. And I'll be more than happy to help."

"Ok," I took his hand, "Do your worst."

"With pleasure," Francis grabbed the garment bag off the stairs and the two of us stepped into his bathroom. I don't know what's going to be waiting for me, but I trusted Flavio with my life. I'm sure he picked something wonderful.


	31. Going Home

I didn't think Flavio would ever have me so well pegged. Between how Oliver dressed me and how he dressed me, I was expecting something a lot…Louder. Yet still incredibly subdued. Or something that didn't look like I was going to kindergarten. Instead, a pair of denim cutoff shorts and a _beautiful _brown bomber jacket sat in this garment bag for me. I had a white t-shirt I could throw on under it. It's perfect. Thank you, Flavio. Thank you for letting me go back to being me again. Although, when I got dressed and came out of the bathroom, I don't think Francis was as approving.

"Really, Amy?" he cringed, "_That's _what Flavio picked out for you?"

"Yeah," I did a little spin, happy to be in my own skin again, "What? You don't like it?"

"It's definitely not my style," Francis pointed out, "But…You make it work. Like…It's what you should be wearing."

"Thank you," I did a little curtsey. In all honesty, I would've loved to have Allen's jacket back, but that wasn't mine. Still, I looked positively adorable. And I couldn't be happier.

"Come here," he brought me back into the bathroom and started playing with my hair. Two intricate braids kept it out of my face, "Are you sure you want to do this, Amy? Don't get me wrong, cheri. I'm glad you're wanting to spend time with your father, but…He and his brother have some _striking _similarities."

"I'll be fine," I promised, "I know the difference between Arthur and Oliver. If I get bad, I think Allen talked Arthur through how to calm me down again. But that's a strong if. I feel pretty ok. Even if I do get bad, I'm sure I could get myself through it."

"Alright," Francis looked me over in the mirror, "Thank God, you got my good looks."

"Yeah," I scoffed, "I got your pretty face and Arthur's eyebrows. The lord giveth."

"You're fine, mon amour," he hugged me tight, "You could've gotten worse."

"Really?"

"Really," Francis nodded, "You could've gotten his inability to cook or his bitter ass personality. Count your blessings."

"I guess so," I laid my head on his hip, "I'll be alright, Francis. I promise."

"Good," he kissed the top of my head, "Go forth, petite. Be careful."

"I will," I got up from the stool at his vanity and skipped downstairs. I hope they know I'm ok. They need to. I owe them that much. It's not often I fall off the face of the Earth.

"Wow, Amy," Alfred intercepted me at the foot of the stairs and gave me a little spin, "You're awfully cute today."

"Thank you," I melted inside. You share blood, Amy. Settle your hormones. I'm going to have to talk to Allen about that one. He got it under control. I need to know his secrets.

"Hot date?" he teased.

"With Arthur?" I giggled, "No. Not a hot date. I'm going to visit my adoptive parents. Let them know I'm ok."

"That sounds like a plan," Alfred approved, "You need some moral support?"

"I got it," I snapped up my jacket up to my pockets.

"You got plans for after?" he wondered, "I was thinking about the three of us doing something later."

"We'll see," I wasn't sure what kind of state I'd be in afterward. Always leave some wiggle room, kids. Your mental health is just as important as your overall health. And after the shit I've been through, taking a day or two or seven is totally understandable.

"Ok," Alfred wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tight, "I should probably go check on Francis."

"Why?" I gave him a look, "I was just with him. He's fine."

"As far as you saw," he clarified, "Francis has his moments where he's a total drama queen, but that drama queen only comes out when certain people aren't around. Think about it. If you just got your daughter back, wouldn't you want to hold onto her for as long as you can?"

Wow…I wasn't expecting that to hit so hard. I hated the thought of leaving Francis to cry in the shadows, but something in me was saying to stay here and make sure he was ok, too, "Yeah…I guess I would."

"I'll send in Mattie later," Alfred brushed it off, "If Francis is in a fit, Mattie's like a one man bomb squad. I don't know what he does, but somehow, he manages to get him to settle down almost instantly. It's creepy as hell, but who am I to judge?"

"Amy?" Arthur came in, "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yeah," I did one last spin, "What do you think? Did Flavio do good or did he do great?"

"It could've been worse, I suppose," Arthur figured, "But all in all, I'm just glad he doesn't have you hanging out all over the place. Shall we?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "See you later, Alfred."

"Later!"

Arthur and I got in his car and headed for what I always thought was home. They still needed to know. They were still my mom and dad. They just…didn't have the same kind of blood as me. It wouldn't have devastated me if they said they adopted me. I knew that blood never made a family. I've seen it from the sidelines for years. Between them nearly splitting up more than once and the mess that transpired on both sides of the family, I knew blood never made a family. It was like Sebastian and me. We never shared blood, but that didn't mean he hadn't imprinted on me like a baby duck. And he's always going to be family to me. Mom and Dad raised me. They made me who I am today. And I could never repay them for it.

When we pulled up to the house, I took a few deep breaths. I don't understand why I was so nervous. It's not like I haven't done this a million times before. I lived here for a good majority of my life. When shit went sideways for me, I could always come back here. Even though it would likely come with a lecture later, but still…I'd rather a lecture than a hellish situation. Although, Arthur started to pick up on my sudden twitchiness.

"Amy?" he put his hand on mine, "Are you alright? You look like you want to throw up."

"I'm good," I shook it off, "I think. I don't know. The last few days have been a lot, you know? I hate making people worry about me. I didn't even get to be the hero in my own story. If I didn't have Francois come and get me, I'd still be with Oliver."

"No, you wouldn't," Arthur promised, "Trust me, Amy. We have people all over. Some of them are considerably close to Oliver. If Francois wouldn't have found you, we would've managed. Somehow. Ivan, probably."

"I would've been able to break out of there," I thought, "But Oliver had me juiced up with God knows what."

"I got the list from Xiao," he told me, "I'm pretty sure it's out of your system by now. He said if you're showing symptoms to let him know and he can take care of it."

"Bless him," I took one last breath, "Well…Are you coming with me or are you staying here?"

"Go ahead," Arthur insisted, "I don't think it'd be much my place to go with you."

I wasn't going to force him, but it would've been nice to have some sort of moral support. Still, I could do this. Again, I don't know what has me so freaked out. I'm sure Mom's going to ask questions and dig in places I'm not ready for anyone to go yet. Dad will probably bitch at me for keeping quiet. Still…They needed to know I was ok. You can do this, Amy. I didn't even bother knocking on the door.

"Mom?" I called from the door, "Dad?"

"Hey, Ames," Dad waved back to me from his chair. By the looks of it, I just missed lunch.

"Hi, Amy!" Mom yelled, coming up to the living room, "What's the occasion you're here?"

"I'm back now…" I told them, "I'm ok."

"Well…" Dad looked at me weird, "Good for you, honey."

"Amy," Mom wondered, "Are you drunk? Oh, sweetheart, I thought I taught you better. It's only ok to drink in the daytime when you're having mimosas at brunch."

Always was more of a tequila sunrise kind of girl myself, "I'm not drunk."

"Drugs, then?" Dad assumed, "You're not high, right?"

"No," I started getting less offended and more pissed off, "I've been missing for the last week."

"You were missing?" Ouch…That wasn't the response I was expecting.

"Yeah," I nodded, "I…was…"

They didn't even know I was gone? Wow. A+ parenting. And these were the two who raised me. As much as I didn't want to admit it, Oliver was right. Mom walked all over me. Dad let it happen. I couldn't believe it. But as always, in typical Katherine Williams fashion, Mom dropped it and pretended like it never happened, "Well, what matters is you're back. Isn't that wonderful?"

"I…" I don't know why I expected more, "I have to go. Just thought I'd drop by and let you know I'm ok."

"Alright, Amy," Dad let me go, "We'll see you later then."

I didn't want to fight them. I didn't want to yell and scream. I wanted to be numb and to let those feelings get lost in the ether. I held back the heavy tears in my eyes begging to come out and slid back into Arthur's passenger seat, "Amy…? Are you ok?"

"No," my voice broke, "I'm not ok. I'm definitely not ok."

Arthur didn't know what to do either. We were both drawing absolute blanks. My heart was just smashed to pieces by the two people I thought loved me most on this planet. For the first time, I felt completely and utterly lost. Instead of making me talk, Arthur pulled me into his shoulder, "Let's go get tea."

"Yes, please," I knew he was trying to make me feel better. And that's all I could ask. At least he tried.

Arthur pulled out of the driveway and the two of us went to a diner just about on the outskirts of town. Far enough for the noise in town to be nonexistent, but close enough to make me still feel connected to home. As much as I'd love to drink myself into a hole, I knew that wouldn't make me feel better. It'd only make me worse. And once I crawled down to the bottom of a bottle, I wasn't going to want to come back out.

Being around Arthur alone still kind of sketched me out. I look up at him and I only see Oliver's face. It made me queasy. On top of everything else, I didn't need that. Come on, Amy. Logic this one out. That's not Oliver. Oliver is…God only knows where he scurried off to. But I know he's not here. He's not sitting in front of me. That's Arthur. I know there weren't many differences, but that is not Oliver. Arthur was better than that. And he didn't deserve me pointing fingers at him when he's done nothing wrong.

"Amy…" he tried reaching for my hand, but immediately, I jerked it away out of reflex. No. That's not what needed to happen, "Look, Amy…I'm not him…"

"I know," I sighed out, doing anything to lower my blood pressure. I took a good swallow of my tea. After drinking what Oliver used to give me, this pales in comparison. He really did know what he was doing. I settled myself down before another panic attack could kick in, "I know you're not him. It's going to take some time before I can separate the two of you."

"I understand," Arthur backed off, "I'll wait as long as you need me to."

"Thank you," I smiled a bit, "Actually, Arthur…You are a comforting presence to have around. It was like when I first moved in with Oliver. When everything was ok and someone finally cared. It's too bad he latched onto that like a leech and wouldn't let me go."

"One day, love," he assured me, "One day, you're going to wake up and not even give him a thought. He makes it so easy and so difficult to love him. But the fact that you're even willing enough to sit here with me on your own…It's nice."

"If I can keep my head on my shoulders," I pointed out.

"And you will," Arthur nodded, "One day. It doesn't have to be today. It doesn't have to be tomorrow. Hell, it doesn't even have to be next week. But I can be patient."

"Thank you…"

"Amy…" he couldn't stand the quiet, "You do know that Francis and I wanted to keep you. So much. We just…We couldn't risk it. It was bad enough he had made attempts with Alfred once. We couldn't…"

"What?" I never heard that side of the story before.

"Alfred was the first one," Arthur explained with pain in his eyes, "We didn't think Oliver was much for harm, so after he was born, Francis and I wanted to go out one night. It was the first time we'd gone out since Alfred was born and we needed a break, so we thought we could leave him with Oliver and Francois for the night. But when we came back, there was no sign of Oliver or Alfred. We did end up finding him before they could skip town. And that was the last time Oliver ever babysat."

"Yikes," I cringed, "It's too bad he managed to succeed with me."

"And we got you back, didn't we?" Yeah…This definitely wasn't Oliver.

"Yeah," I smiled again, "You did. They didn't even know I was gone, Arthur."

"That doesn't matter now," Arthur carefully reached for my hand. And I gladly gave it to him, "What matters is that you have us now."

"I have all of you now," I felt a warmth in my chest that I so desperately needed.

"I love you, Amy," he moved over to my side of the booth and held me tight, "I always have. And I always will. I can't speak for Francis, but I'm sure he'd say the same thing. But you know…With a much more dramatic flair. I'm sorry that your mother is painfully French, darling. I couldn't help that. I've tried."

Don't you do it, Amy. Don't you fucking do it. Amelia Rose, you keep those tears to yourself. I buried my face in Arthur's shoulder, still trying my best not to start bawling in the middle of this diner, "I love you, too."

"And I promise you," Arthur vowed, "We'll do everything we can to help you back on your feet. Ok?"

"Ok," I shook a little. No. No, no, no. Don't you do it.

"Amy?" he picked my chin up, "Are you alright?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded, swallowing the swelling lump in my throat, "I will be anyway."

"Good," Arthur wasn't letting me go. I think once was enough. He wouldn't be stupid enough to make that mistake twice.


	32. Guardian Angel

It had been a long day for little old me. As much as I liked sitting with Arthur and sharing a cup of tea, I needed to lay down for a while. Oliver had gotten me used to taking naps and I hated that, but the occasional reset button wasn't so bad. Today would be one of those days. I'm not writing this off as me being a cranky toddler, though. It's more like I'm fucking exhausted and emotionally drained and a few minutes with my eyes shut won't kill me.

"Amy?" Arthur pulled into the driveway, "Are you ok?"

"I will be," I hoped, my head on his shoulder, "Eventually."

"Do you…" he treaded lightly, "Do you want to…See someone? Professionally?"

"No," I knew what he was trying to get at. I'm sure it'd help, but right now, it's not the time, "I already had one of those. I lived with one of those. It'll be a while before I can do something like that again. Oliver kind of scorned me on that."

"I understand," Arthur dropped it, "But don't let Oliver make you afraid to ask for help. They're not all like that. There was a time where things between Francis and me weren't the best and we did that for a while. We couldn't figure out what to do after Alfred and Mattie left on their own and it made us a little…"

"Bitchy?" I assumed.

"You could say that," he nodded, "But it was so much more than that. We weren't just being bitchy. We were at each other's throats on a daily basis. It wasn't pretty. Do you know what our therapist suggested?"

"What?"

"Taking a holiday together," Arthur smiled, "And I think you may be familiar with the particular trip we took."

"Acapulco," I figured, trying to keep the thought of Francis and Arthur being intimate out of my head.

"That's right," he kissed the top of my head, "And that gave us you. You know, Amy, I'm glad we're ok."

"What do you mean?" I wondered.

"You and me," Arthur explained, "Things could've taken a horrible turn for us. I have Oliver's face. He has mine. It wouldn't surprise me if our relationship was at least a bit strained. If you were to gravitate toward Francis more, I'd understand."

"We were a little at first," I admitted, "When Francois brought me back, I almost wanted nothing to do with you. But to be fair…There is a striking resemblance between you two."

"Twins, love," he reminded me, "Twins."

"I know."

"So," Arthur asked, "What changed your mind?"

"I've seen you and Oliver in the same room," I thought back to my time at Oliver's house. When I was so naïve…He's an ok guy. He's not a killer. He just cares about me. That's not so bad. He can change. Oh, baby Amy…You were so innocent, "I know which one is which."

"Wait," he looked at me strange, "When did you ever see us in the same room? Was that from the video call?"

"No," I explained, "You came to visit Oliver."

"I heard he was keeping a little girl as a pet," Arthur remembered, "I never once thought it could've been my little girl."

"I was upstairs," I went on, "Then, I saw you. At first, I thought I was seeing things."

"Because God only knows what Oliver was giving you," he shuddered, "You didn't ever take chocolate from him, did you?"

"Um…" I bit my lip, "Maybe a few pieces."

"That's how he kept you so complacent," Arthur held his face in his hands, "His chocolate is drugged, Amy. Don't ever take it again."

"I won't."

"So, anyway," he pushed me along, "After that, what happened?"

"Oliver told me you were the bad one," I continued, "That I should stay away from you."

"Of course he did," Arthur rolled his eyes, "If you can believe it, Oliver was the fucking golden child when we were growing up."

"Seriously?" I could somewhat understand that. Take away Oliver's homicidal tendencies and he's a damn saint. Arthur is in a permanent state of wanting those fucking kids off his lawn and shaking his fist at nothing. I've grown to love Arthur, but with Oliver, it was instant.

"Oh, yes," he grumbled, "Everyone adored Oliver. He's such a sweetheart. He's so wonderful. You can't help but love him. It was nauseating…Not to mention, hell on my self-esteem. However…"

A little smile returned to Arthur's face, setting me much more at ease, "What's that all about?"

"There was one who liked me more than Oliver," Arthur melted, "And I thank God every day for that."

"Who?"

"Well," he let out a heavy sigh, "You know him as your mother…"

"Francis?" I should've seen that one coming, yet it still managed to catch me by surprise.

"That's right," Arthur nodded, "While we were growing up, though, I couldn't stand him. He was the annoying French kid that always hung around my house and I never knew why. He never brought Francois with him, though. Francois was always sent away to whatever boarding school he was in that week. At least until he'd get expelled and need another one. It was a regular occurrence for me to see Francis around my place. And he'd always find me along with a new way to drive me absolutely mad. But then…As we got older…"

"I think I know the rest," I cringed, "I don't need to know the nitty-gritty details of your relationship with Francis."

"It was so much more than that, though," he clarified, "He might have been a gigantic pain in my ass back then, but he was my pain in the ass. He noticed me when no one else did. Except for my brothers, but they noticed me for all the wrong reasons. I'd rather have Francis being a pain in the ass than have to be their punching bag. Good times."

"At least you weren't used as a welcome mat," I pointed out, "Trust me. That one's worse. You can heal from the beatings. Being used sticks with you for a while."

"Honestly, Amy," Arthur pulled me into his shoulder, "If you want to see someone, I'd be more than happy to find someone for you."

"No," I shook it off, "I just suppress it now. Let future Amy deal with that shit."

"Well," he held me a little tighter, "Why would we burden future Amy when present Amy doesn't have to suffer with it?"

"Not now, Arthur," I begged, "Please. Let this have a chance to settle down. Let me have a chance to process it first and see if it goes in the bin of suppression. Ok?"

"Alright." Bless him. Arthur wouldn't push it any further, "In that case, why don't we head back inside, yeah? I'm sure your mother's worried about where we ran off to."

"He knew where we were going," I pointed out, "He knew what we were doing."

"But he doesn't know about the aftermath," he retaliated, "And…If you don't want him to cause a scene, I'd suggest keeping the aftermath between us for now. At least wait until tomorrow morning, so he can sleep tonight."

"That was the plan," I agreed. Something tells me Francis was the type to get overemotional about a commercial on TV. He doesn't need to hear about my adoptive parents having tunnel vision.

Arthur and I got out of the car and started walking up to the house. It's so strange. It used to be Oliver's wraparound porch, Oliver's rosebushes (that I totally puked in. Not one of my prouder moments, but in hindsight, it's pretty high on the pride list, Oliver's cute, Christmas card house. For the first time in a very, very long time, I finally felt like I was coming home. To a family that gave a shit whether I lived or died, but also understood I needed personal space once in a while, too. Is this what normal was supposed to feel like? Because…I could totally get used to it.

"Francis!" Arthur took his shoes off at the door, "We're home!"

"Amy?" That wasn't Francis. Instead, Allen came running around the stairs and threw his arms around me.

"Hi, Allen," I choked out. I love him to death, but fuck, man. You have a shit ton of upper body strength, "You're still here?"

"What can I say?" Allen let me go, "You had me worried. I've never met your adoptive parents, but I could only imagine what they were like when Olly seemed like a better alternative."

"I'm ok," I promised, not a hundred percent sure how true that statement was. Sure, the thought of them not even realizing I was missing still had me kind of rattled, but fortunately, I had someone there to catch me before I fell too hard, "Really, Allen. I'll be fine. I want you to go home and get some sleep. You look like shit."

"Gee…" Allen grumbled, "Thanks, Ames. Love you, too."

"She's right, Allen." Even Arthur saw how dark his dark circles had gotten. God only knows how long it's been since he's had proper sleep. Aside from last night. He did have me to cuddle with and the knowledge that I was finally out of Oliver's hands, "Not that you're not ever welcome here, but you should be getting home."

"I promise I'll be here in the morning," I settled him, "I'm not going anywhere."

Allen still hesitated, "Am I going to see you in class tomorrow?"

"Of course," I rested my head on his chest, "I need to keep my notes intact, don't I? You said it yourself. You've never seen something so fucking organized in your life."

"Our door is always open to you, Allen," Arthur assured him, "You can come and see her anytime."

"Thank you," Allen gave him a nod, "But…You…can take care of her…right, Arthur?"

"Yes," Arthur swore, "Between Francis and I, we can take care of her. We raised Mattie and Alfred, didn't we? I think we have Amy handled."

"Allen," I held his face between my hands, "I'll be fine. Promise. And I will be in class tomorrow."

Without another word said between us, Allen wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. This time, he wasn't trying to snap me in half, "I love you, Amy."

"I love you, too," I cuddled into him, "Be careful on your way home, ok?"

"I will," Allen kissed the top of my head and took off. He really is something special. I remember the days when he was just a smooth talker that managed to score at least thirty dollars of coffee and donuts out of me. It's hard to believe he's been my long-lost brother the whole time. And Matt, too.

"Hey, Arthur!" Francis called from the living room, "You may want to come see this!"

"What is it?" Arthur and I exchanged glances and checked the TV.

"Your brother is on TV," Francis pointed out, "Turns out he got arrested for kidnapping, illegal drug possession, and multiple counts of spousal abuse."

"Really?" my eyes were glued to the screen, "Any defense attorney worth their salt is going to play up how sickeningly sweet he is. They should've put up murder, too."

"Murder?" Arthur gave me a look.

"Oliver killed my ex-boyfriend," I could feel it in my heart of hearts. Reid was trying to get clean. I know he was.

"Did they say anything about who turned him in?" Arthur wondered.

"No," Francis shook his head while the stairs behind me creaked, "Just an anonymous tip, according to the news report."

"Did Allen leave already?" Francois groaned, his fist shoved into his eye. By the looks of it, someone had just woken up from a nap.

"Yeah," Arthur nodded, "You just missed him."

"The little shit was my ride," Francois grumbled.

"I didn't know you were still here, Francois," Francis admitted, "You were so quiet upstairs."

"I've been awake for the last hour and a half," Francois told him.

"Well," Francis chirped, "I'm sure you're sadistic enough to appreciate what's going on."

"What?" Francois sat on the back of the couch, watching the news with us. Suddenly, his eyes got bigger, "Is that Oliver?"

"It is," Arthur confirmed as the clip of him being shoved into the back of a cop car continued to play.

A sudden grin stretched across Francis's face, "You know, mon cher frère, they say there was an anonymous tip given."

"Yippie," Francois jumped down, "It's about fucking time someone takes care of him. I'll walk home then."

"I can always take you back," Francis offered.

"Because death isn't an option?"

"It's true, Francis," Arthur agreed, "I love you dearly, but you can't drive to save your life."

"Aww, Angleterre," Francis melted, laying his head on Arthur's shoulder, "You said you love me. I love you, too."

Hold on…Francis said there was an anonymous tip. Francois didn't seem too surprised at the news that Oliver got arrested. And how would anyone else know about possible spousal abuse? I got up from the couch and threw my arms around Francois, holding back the tears I've been suppressing for so long, "Thank you, Francois."

"For…what?" Francois looked at me like I was on drugs. I don't think the poor thing was used to sudden affection.

"Really?" I cranked my neck back, "The news may have said the tip was anonymous, but I know better."

Then, in a shocking twist of fate, Francois actually hugged me back, "You're welcome, cheri…Um…Amy…You can let go now."

"No," I buried my face in his chest, "No, I can't."

"Alright…" he tried peeling my fingers off him, "That's enough…Before my brother thinks this is an ok thing to do."

"Alright," I let him go. As much as I didn't want to.

"If you ever…You know…" Francois kept his voice down, "If you need someone to…Drink this away with…You know where I live."

"And I'd love for us to share a drink again," I smiled, "But please, Francois…Take care of yourself. You're important to a lot of people. And if this happens again, who's going to save me from Oliver?"

"If you get tangled up with Oliver again," Francois argued, "You can rescue your damn self. Because you were fucking stupid enough to go back to him."

"I know better," I chuckled a bit, hugging him once more, "I love you, Francois."

I think I caught him off guard. But instead of shoving me away, Francois got in my ear, making sure to keep his voice down, "I love you, too, Amy. If you ever tell Francis I told you that, I'll fucking end you. We don't want him thinking I'm human."

"Well," I wondered, "When can we hang out again?"

"We'll do it in secret," Francois decided, "Early in the afternoon. I'll just be waking up around then."

"How does Sunday sound?" I suggested.

"Fine with me," Francois nodded.

"It's a date," I walked him to the door.

"Don't get sentimental on me, Amy…"

"Fine," I waved my last goodbyes to Francois and fell over on the stairs. 

"Amy?" Francis got up to check on me, "Are you alright?"

"I'm exhausted," I admitted, "But I'll live. It's been a long day for me."

"I'm sure it has," Arthur sat on the other side of me.

"I think it's time for me to go to bed," I pushed myself back on my feet, "Do you guys mind?"

"Of course not," Francis took my hand, "Come on. I'll take you."

"Ok…"

"Good night, darling," Arthur shot me a little smile.

"Good night," I smiled back, following Francis upstairs. Honestly, I just wanted to go to sleep. Nothing overly exciting. No bubble bath before bed. Although, the shit Oliver used to put on my face before bed would hit the spot right now. It's too bad I never caught the name of it. Instead, I quickly changed into pajamas and crawled into bed with Francis waiting for me, "So…"

"So…" he pulled the blankets over me.

"What do we have planned for tomorrow?" I wondered.

"Well, Amy," Francis thought it over, "How would you feel about meeting more family tomorrow?"

"I have more?" I gasped.

"Of course," Francis confirmed, "Well…They're not biologically family, but trust me. They're family. So? Is that a yes?"

"Sure," I let out a little yawn, "But first, I want to get some sleep."

"And that's fine by me," he tucked me in and kissed my forehead, "Good night, cheri. Je t'aime."

After all the shit that had gone down today…Oliver's arrest. My adoptive parents breaking my heart. Francois growing one. It's nice to be able to finally decompress. I can finally breathe again, "Je t'aime, Mama…"

"Amy…" Francis awed, pulling me into his chest, a tear falling onto my shoulder, "Sleep well."

"I will." I had a feeling that I'd finally be able to sleep like a rock. Tomorrow, I can get my life back. But for now, I can get some sleep.


	33. Buenos Dias

I smell breakfast. It's always a good sign when I wake up and smell breakfast. Not in a burnt toast kind of way, but when it's sweet. I don't know what kind of wonders awaited me downstairs and my ass was too impatient to wait. I pulled myself out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. Please don't be Oliver's cooking. Don't be Oliver's cooking. No…It's not Oliver's cooking. There's too much spice in the air for it to be Oliver's. With Oliver's cooking (particularly breakfast), the smell was always incredibly sweet. This didn't smell like Christmas. More like…Vacation.

When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed a bare back toward me. With some incredible muscle tone. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry for food anymore. My God…I might need something to wipe my drool off the floor. I wouldn't mind if that was breakfast. You're not Francis. And you sure as hell aren't Mattie. And I know damn well you're not Alfred. Who are you, beautiful man? And are you worth me putting off my morning coffee? I sat at the island and enjoyed the view. However, I was hoping my chair wouldn't squeak. Amy is not allowed nice things.

"Oh…" Gorgeous turned around. And he only got worse. Between those eyes and that diabetic coma inducing smile, I was a puddle, "Buenos dias, niña."

"Buenos dias…" I swooned.

"Wait a minute," he looked me over, "I know you!"

"You do?" my heart stopped.

"Amelia, right?" he assumed, "You're Alfred and Allen's sister."

"Yeah…" Did it get hot in here? Because I swear it just jumped up at least thirty degrees, "It's Amy…"

"I'm Antonio," he introduced himself, "I'm good friends with your…mom? Si? Francis had you, right? Not Arthur?"

"Yeah…" I sighed out. But then, I suddenly snapped back into my head, no longer leading my thoughts with my libido, "Hold on. I know you, too!"

"My reputation precedes me?" Antonio wondered.

"Sort of," I still enjoyed my full serving of eye candy, "Lovino is lucky to have you."

"You know my Lovi?" he perked up.

"Kind of," I nodded, "I don't know him personally, but I do know Flavio. And Flavio gushes about Lovino."

"I can't blame him," Antonio giggled to himself, "You really should meet Lovino, though. He's a sweetheart. When he wants to be. And he's not going through a biting phase that day. And you're lucky to catch him on a good day."

"So I've heard," I stopped thirsting over Antonio and got myself some coffee.

"If you've met Flavio," he asked, going back to the stovetop, "Does that mean you've met Andres, too?"

"I didn't get a chance to talk to him much while I was at Oliver's," I admitted, "But I did see him. And I've heard plenty from Flavio to the point where I could probably hold a conversation with him. He looked like he wanted to fall asleep, though. Insomniac?"

"Nocturnal," Antonio corrected, "And he was probably hungover, too."

"You think so?" I thought back, "I think he was just tired."

"Trust me," he assured, "Andres…I love him. I really do. But hermano needs to put down the tequila. He's hooked on the shit."

"Really?" I didn't get severe alcoholic out of Andres.

"He gets hammered regularly with Gillen and Francois," Antonio nodded, "I'm surprised any of them have a liver left. Don't get me wrong. We get into our fair share of drunken antics, but…Not nearly as much as what they do. We're happy drunks. They're violent."

"I know…" I remembered seeing Francois drunk. It took both Matt and Allen to hold him back from me.

"Wherever he is right now," he shook it off, "I hope he's doing ok and he's not face down in a gutter somewhere. That's why I like when he stays with Flavio. Then, I don't have to worry as much. He's the only voice of reason Andres will actually listen to."

"Well, well," a gentle French accent floated through the air, "Is it me or is there a beautiful Spaniard in my kitchen?"

"You're so lucky Lovino isn't here," Antonio chuckled a bit while Francis laid his chin on Antonio's shoulder, "He would've beaten the shit out of you with no remorse…Or mercy."

"I see you've met the baby," Francis smiled at me, "Good morning, cheri."

"Morning, Mama," my face scrunched up under the quick kiss on my cheek.

"And you've met Uncle Antonio already?" Francis took the empty seat next to me.

"Wait," I suddenly felt like I needed a shower…on both the inside and the outside…in holy water, if available, "Uncle?"

"Not quite like Francois," Francis clarified, "Antonio is one of my best friends in the whole wide world…"

"Francis…" Antonio blushed, "Please."

"And occasionally," Francis went on, "He shows up here and cooks for me. Because he loves me."

"You caught me," Antonio caved, "Te amo, Francis."

"I love you more," Francis chided him, maturely sticking his tongue out.

"Don't tempt me," Antonio teased, "By the way…I hope you still love me after what I'm about to tell you."

"What did you do?" Francis glared.

"I didn't do anything," Antonio through his hands up, "I swear. Gil on the other hand…He might have gone a little hard last night."

"Dammit, Gilbert," Francis held his face in his hands, "Should I send the apology chocolate to Elizabeta now?"

"I don't think he went over to Elizabeta's house last night," Antonio crossed his fingers, "But he totally went too hard last night. I called him this morning before I came over and told him I was making breakfast here. And…You may have a mess on one of your hedges in the front."

"I thought I told him," Francis hit his forehead on the counter, "If he's going to throw up in the hedges, at least throw up in the ones on the south side of the house. I ask so little of him. Where is Gilbert now?"

"He's passed out on your couch," Antonio told him, going back to the stove, "But yeah. He's not going to feel great when he wakes up. Hence why I'm making breakfast."

"As an apology and a hangover cure?" Francis assumed. Jesus Christ. What kind of family did I get myself roped into? You come from this, Amy. You come from this.

"Si!"

"Tell me he has pants on," Francis hoped, "If his naked ass is on our couch, Arthur's going to be pissed and I am not protecting Gilbert from whatever may come after that."

"He did when I looked in on him last," Antonio promised, "He's not completely naked."

"I got this," I jumped down from my barstool and got the coffee grinder and the milk steamer.

"Amy," Francis looked at me strange, "What are you doing?"

"When my ex-boyfriend was still alive," I explained. Coffee beans…Coffee beans…Hopefully, we have more than just French roast. Extra dark would be ideal, "I used to do this for him every morning after he had. Because what kind of girlfriend would I be if I just left him out to dry like that? I have this shit down to a science. Trust me, boys. I got this. I know how to make a liquid cure."

"You should watch this, Antonio," Francis insisted, "It's truly a work of art to watch this girl make coffee."

"Were you a barista in a past life, Amy?" Antonio asked.

"In a current life," I corrected him, miraculously finding a bag of extra dark roast beans. Hot damn! It's going to be a good day, "Before Oliver happened. I used to work at the café downtown before Oliver claimed it had a rat infestation and got it shut down."

"Cabrón…"

"Antonio!" Francis scolded him, "Not in front of the little one."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," I agreed, "And I'm not nearly as little as you think I am. My god, Francis, in the short time I've been here, you know damn well I have the mouth of a well-educated sailor."

"You understood me?" Antonio perked up.

"My Spanish isn't the greatest," I admitted, "But I'd be lying if I said I never taught myself profanity in different languages for the fun of it."

"Oh, me gustas, chica," he threw an arm around my shoulders, "Me gustas mucho."

"Me gustas, tambien, Tio," I melted inside, "But can I get back to work please?"

"Go ahead," Antonio let me go, "Don't let me stop you."

"Thank you." And so, I got to work. The secret to a good hangover cure is the darkest dark roast coffee and a light cloud of steamed milk to sit on top. Although, whenever I'd make these for Reid, I'd always put an inch of caramel syrup at the bottom, just to give him something to look forward to when he finished. He always said that it'd get sweeter with every drink and the closer he got to the bottom, the closer he got to that caramel syrup waiting for him at the bottom. The things I did for love…

By the time I had Gilbert's coffee made, Antonio had what looked like French toast plated in front of me, "Aqui, niña. All done."

"Thank you," I chirped.

"Francis…" another tired, grumbly voice came floating into the kitchen, "Why is there a hungover German on our couch?"

Francis looked at him strange, "How do you know he's…?"

"Is Gilbert ever perfectly fine when he's sleeping here?"

"Understandable," Francis nodded, "Uncle Gilbert can get a little out of hand sometimes, Amy. I'm sorry you have to deal with this."

"No worries," I brushed him off.

"Good morning, darling," Arthur kissed my cheek.

"Good morning," I gave him the freshly boiled kettle, "Really, though. It's nothing I've never dealt with before."

"How long has he been sleeping, Antonio?" Francis asked.

"How should I know?" Antonio shrugged, "Once we got here, he crashed onto the couch and hasn't moved an inch since. According to Ludwig, he had been out since about midnight and he woke up briefly when we got here. Which…By the way, sorry about your bushes, Arthur."

"Goddammit," Arthur held his face in his hands, "All I want are nice bushes that aren't covered in German vomit. Is that too much to ask for?"

"See, Amy," Francis filled me in, "Gilbert's brother Ludwig can drink Gilbert under the table, but Gilbert doesn't know when to quit. His pride gets in the way and that's when he passes out early."

"In simple terms," Antonio added, "He's a fucking lightweight."

"I kind of figured," I giggled.

"But," Francis sighed out, "He's cute."

"He might be an idiot," Antonio agreed, "But he's our idiot. And we wouldn't trade him for the world."

"I would trade him for a paperclip and half a pack of gum," Arthur chimed in, putting his sugar in his tea, "Not even the half pack of gum. Just the paperclip."

"That's because he threw up in our bushes, mon amour," Francis assumed.

"I just want nice things, Francis!"

"I'm going to go bring him breakfast," I told them, "Wish me luck."

"It was nice knowing you, Amy," Antonio waved me off.

"That's like walking into the lion's den, Amy," Francis winced, "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Trust me," I grabbed his coffee with one hand and his plate with the other, "It's not my first time doing this. I got it."

"Alright, cheri," Francis let me go, "Good luck."

Not that I'd really need it. Although, the sentiment was appreciated. I tiptoed into the living room where a white-haired man was sleeping like a rock. You must be Uncle Gilbert. I have to admit. Both my uncles were fucking beautiful. Ten out of ten. I come from a good non-gene pool. However, I knew all too well this game. And rule number one was always to keep as quiet as possible. I put his hangover cure on the coffee table and gently put a hand to his shoulder.

"Gilbert?" I barely spoke above a whisper.

"Hmm…?" Slowly, his eyes blinked open. They're red…And I'm not talking bloodshot. I've never seen anyone with eyes like his before…They're beautiful. And they sparkled as he looked up at me, "Am I dead? Are you an angel?"

"No," I giggled, "I'm far from an angel. I'm Amy."

"Amy…" Gilbert repeated, "An emergency room nurse then? No…This is Francis and Arthur's house…Private nurse then. Unless…Are you a real nurse or…a nurse for hire, if you know what I mean?"

"Nurse for…" I thought for a second. But then, everything I needed to know was told in that smirk, "Do you think I'm a stripper?"

"It's not exactly implausible."

"I'm not a stripper," I'd let that one go given his circumstances. He's probably miserable enough. Although, I have a feeling Francis wouldn't appreciate him hitting on me like that, "But I have coffee and breakfast and aspirin for you instead of a lap dance."

"Thank you," Gilbert started sitting up. He threw the aspirin down his throat and took a good drink of his coffee. His eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Holy shit…Where did you get the coffee from?"

"I made it," I told him, "My ex used to get some nasty ass hangovers, too."

"Amy," he looked me over, "Do I know you?"

"This is going to be weird to hear," I admitted, "Especially since you thought I was a stripper, but I'm actually Francis and Arthur's daughter."

And to no surprise, Gilbert choked on his last drink of coffee, summoning Antonio and Francis to the living room, "Amy? Is everything alright, cheri?"

"Oui, Mama," I nodded, "Just a little shock."

"Morning, Gil," Antonio grinned, "What did you learn today?"

"That's your daughter, Francis?" Gilbert recovered.

"Yeah," Francis shot him a glare, "Why?"

"It's alright, Amy," Antonio gave me a little pop to the shoulder, "Think of it this way, Francis. Amy wouldn't be the first one of your kids Gilbert has had the hots for."

"Whatever you do," Gilbert begged, "Don't tell Mattie."

"We won't," Antonio promised, "And…Well…Look at Amy. She's beautiful."

"She takes after me," Francis bragged, "She definitely takes after me."

"Where would she get her ability to make a damn good coffee?" Gilbert got down to the bottom of the cup, "Because this is incredible. You have a gift, kid."

"Thank you," I took my well-deserved bow, "But that was learned, not inherited."

"Me," Francis whispered.

"Because my years at the café didn't do anything?" I let out a heavy sigh, "I miss my café…"

"What happened?" Gilbert asked.

"Oliver Kirkland happened," I grumbled, "I just went through the story in the kitchen. Don't make me go through it again. If you want to know, ask either one of these two, because this bitch is out."

"Oh…" his eyes fell, "I'm sorry, Amy. I didn't realize you were _that _Amy."

"_That _Amy?" I wondered, "What the hell have you guys been saying about me while I was with Oliver?"

"Nothing, Amy," Francis pulled me into his arms, "You coming back to us prevented the possible end of the world, so it caused a little buzz on our side of things. And who knows? Maybe since you did that, karma might kick something good your way soon."

"I never was a big believer in fate," I confessed, "My adoptive parents dragged me to church every Sunday, but nine times out of ten, I'd just zone out. Or I'd turn off the volume on my Game Boy and kick ass at Pokémon, but they wouldn't know about that. But it'd be great if something good finally came my way. After all the shit I've gone through with Oliver, I think I've earned it."

"Yes, you have," Francis snuggled me against his chest, "You've earned nothing but good things from here on out."

"Thank you, Mama," I laid my head in his shoulder, "That's very sweet of you to say."

"Amy?" Arthur joined us, "Are you still in here?"

"Still here," I waved an arm, "What's up?"

"You should probably get dressed," he insisted, "You have a big day ahead of you."

"I don't have anything planned," I gave him a look, "What do you mean?"

"Well," Arthur rocked back on his heels, "I have a surprise for you…Go on. Upstairs with you, young lady."

"Alright, alright." I got up from Francis's lap. What could you possibly be planning, Arthur Kirkland?


	34. Business Partners

**A/N: Hi, guys! So, this week, I've been telling everyone the same thing, so if you follow me on another story, you know what I'm about to say. If you don't, then buckle your asses in, because a bitch has some announcements to make.**

**Announcement number 1: As of the end of this chapter, this story will be on hiatus until the end of July. If this is your weekly sanctum, I'm sorry. But if you want something that'll cheer you up, see announcement number 2.**

**Announcement number 2: It's that time of year again, friends. For those of you who haven't been with me very long, maybe since the beginning of this story, I'll explain it simply. Every summer, I take a story and give it daily updates for a week straight. For my friends who have been here for a while, you know it as Bomb Week! For that week, it'll be nothing but daily updates. However, since this story goes up on Fridays, it'll be a while before yours comes. If you have any questions, you know where my inbox is. Feel free to ask. But starting the 27****th**** of July, it'll be just the two of us all week. And I can't wait to see you there. I love you and I'll see you at the end of July. K? x**

What could you possibly want with me at this hour, Arthur Kirkland? I mean, it's the middle of the afternoon, but still. The last time we went out together, I wouldn't say it exactly went very well. At the end of the day, I trusted him. It's not his fault that my adoptive parents were fucking oblivious. I can't blame him for anything. Not yet anyway. He hasn't done anything wrong. He's trying his best. And that's all I can ask.

However, I didn't think he'd take me to a diner. When he said he had a surprise for me, this was the last thing that crossed my mind. As long as he's not going to do anything stupid like reintroduce me to Oliver, I'll be fine. Although, I doubt I'll be meeting Oliver somewhere like this. It's a diner. It's not some cute, little tearoom uptown. It's not his cottage. It's not his kitchen. It's not something that was pulled from every grandma's living room.

It's a cozy greasy spoon almost on the outskirts of town. I used to hang out here in high school with a few friends of mine. Sometimes, until the early hours of the morning. Yeah…That pissed my parents off. Regardless, I still had no clue what Arthur could be planning. The two of us got a comfortable booth near the window and waited for our drinks to come.

But then, I had to ask, "Arthur, what the hell are we doing here?"

"I told you I had a surprise," Arthur glanced toward the door and smiled, "There's someone I want you to see."

"I don't know if I'm up for new people anymore," I groaned, "I've already had to take care of Gilbert and…If I can be honest for a second…When I saw Antonio this morning…If he wasn't in a relationship and best friends with Francis, I would've tore that boy apart right on the kitchen floor."

"A lot of people have that thought about Antonio," he admitted, "No one would be able to blame you. But you do not want to be the target of the anger of Lovino Vargas. Your mother and I just got you back. We don't need you eviscerated on our front lawn."

"I thought Lovino was a sweetheart," I seem to remember both Antonio and Flavio gush over him.

"He's not the point right now," Arthur brushed me off, waving his hand up, "Because I think you've already met her before."

"Amy!" a familiar voice squealed behind me. I knew that voice.

"Helen?" my heart stopped. When I turned around, I jumped out of the booth and threw my arms around my former boss.

"Amy!" Helen squeezed me tight, "Oh, sweetheart, I've been worried sick about you! I saw what happened on the news. They kept you out of it, but I remembered you talking about your new roommate and that British cutie that came in and…Baby, you had me worried…"

"It's good to see you, too, Helen," I swallowed the swelling lump in my throat, "I missed you."

"What about you?" she looked me over, "Are you ok? He didn't do anything extreme, did he?"

"I'd rather forget what he did with me," I shuddered, "He didn't hurt me. He sure as fuck didn't hurt me. But it got weird, Helen. Other than some…odd things…I think I'll be alright. But what are you doing here? I thought you would've been halfway to Boca by now."

"No," Helen shook her head, sitting next to me in the booth, "Are you kidding? Do you really see me living in Florida? I'm not _that _old, Amy!"

"I'm sorry," I blushed a little, "I didn't mean it like that. I just thought you would've been able to retire early after what happened to the café."

"It's funny you mention that," she smiled, "The café is gone. That's very true. It's an unfortunate truth, but regardless, one we have to live with. However…"

"What?" I knew that look in Helen's eye. That was her scheming look.

"A certain building downtown just became available," Helen's grin only got bigger.

"No," I gasped, "Not…_That _building…"

"The very same…"

"Helen!" I squeaked, "You've been after that building for years!"

"What's so special about this building?" Arthur asked.

"It's in a prime location downtown," I explained, "Helen's been drooling over it for the last six years, but the rent on it is astronomical. As much as the café brought in every day, there's no fucking way we would've been able to afford the rent on it."

"Well, my dear, sweet, beautiful Amelia," Helen took my hands, "The strangest thing happened the other day. I got a phone call from a man asking me to meet him in town. Granted, the husband gave me some strange looks, but I went to see him anyway. A generous benefactor decided to give me a decent sum of money. Enough for me to not only restart the café, but to _buy _the space downtown."

"No…Way…" my heart stopped.

"Amy," she proposed, "How would you like…"

"My old job back?" I jumped on the opportunity, "Hell yeah, I would!"

"I wasn't going to ask you if you wanted your old job back, sweetheart," Helen corrected me, "I was going to ask you if you wanted to be my business partner."

"What?" Am I dreaming? Or was I about to throw up? Because I could totally throw up right now.

"I want you to be my business partner," she repeated herself, "Don't get me wrong, Amy. You're a hell of a barista, but that work is beneath you. You're definitely management material. You delegate that kind of thing."

"Helen," I bit the inside of my cheek, "I'd love nothing more than to have my name on that new café, but the barista work…I love doing it. And I'm damn good at it. I don't know the first thing about running a business."

"Then, I can teach you," Helen begged, "Please, Amy. I want no one else to run this with other than you. I know you'll do a wonderful job. I can see that potential in you. Please. I need you back on my staff."

"Well…" I know I was a little rusty at the barista work, but if when I go back home and Gilbert is a hundred percent again, then I could take the job with absolute certainty. But as management? Then, I had an idea, "I'll take the job on one condition."

"Name it."

"Let me still work behind the counter," I bargained, "That's where my strengths are."

"Deal," Helen allowed, "Besides, if I took my best barista out from behind the counter, I'd be stupid. Most people came into the café because of what you did. Does this mean you're in it with me?"

"All the way," I threw my arms around her, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"That's so good to hear," she hugged me tight, "After everything you've been through, you deserve this as much as I do."

"How much do you know?" I wondered, a knot forming in my stomach.

"Enough."

"Anyway," I shook off any thoughts of Oliver and reveled in the moment. I was getting my job back and then some! I'd be able to come home! And I couldn't wait, "About this benefactor…Did he give you a name? I'd like to know who to send the fruit basket to."

"He said he wanted to be a silent partner," Helen remembered, starting to swoon, "But oh, Amy…You should've seen this man. My GOD! He was a beautiful French man…If I wasn't married, I would've been more than happy to have a night with him."

"Many do," Arthur grumbled under his breath.

"I have a feeling," I giggled, knowing _exactly _who that beautiful French man was. I had it narrowed down to two, but after hearing how bitter it made Arthur to hear Helen swoon over him…It could only be one, "Was it Francis Bonnefoy, by chance?"

"How did you know?" Helen gasped, totally caught off guard.

"Lucky guess," I looked over at the blue vein sticking out of Arthur's forehead, "And he's married, too. Sorry, Helen."

"It's alright, sweetheart," she let it go, "I just hope she appreciates what she's got."

"_He _does," Arthur stepped in, "He's an occasional nightmare to live with, but for the most part, his _husband _wouldn't trade him for the world."

"Francis is Arthur's husband," I explained, trying to calm Arthur down in the process, "And you're right. He is truly a beautiful creature. Both inside and out."

"Oh!" Helen winced, "I'm sorry. Here I am, blathering on about another man's husband. I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't know you two were married. Francis never mentioned that."

"Water under the bridge." I can see Arthur's not the type to hold grudges long. Neat. Either that or he's used to people gushing over Francis.

"So, Helen," I brought it back, providing Arthur with a distraction, "When can we start moving into the new space?"

"We're scheduled to move in next week," Helen told me, "We have new equipment and ingredients coming tomorrow. The chairs and tables are coming on Tuesday. You think we could be open by next Saturday morning?"

"We can try," I cringed, "But I'm not making any promises. I'm going to have to relearn how to run the machines. We're going to have to hire new staff. I have no doubt that the old staff has already found new jobs."

"You're already talking like a new manager," Helen laughed, "Relax, Amy. I have that taken care of. I'm just going to need help picking out a new paint color and with some of the redecorating. I know you can do that much."

"Actually," I thought it over for a second, "I know someone that's incredible with color and design. You think we could bring him on as a consultant."

"Who's that?" Arthur looked at me strange.

"It's funny you ask," I told him, "Especially since you know him."

"Wait," Arthur thought, "I know you're not talking about Francis."

"Nope," I shook my head.

"…Francois?"

"Hell no. But you're getting closer."

Arthur gave it one last shot, "Allen?"

"No," I held my face in my hands, "You're missing the obvious one. As good of an idea as it would be to have Francis on board, the thought of him and Flavio unattended in the same room frightens me."

"Flavio Vargas?" Helen asked, "The photographer/designer/socialite, Flavio Vargas?"

"The very one," I nodded, "He adores me and I'm pretty sure he'd do anything I ask him."

"Amy, have I mentioned how much I fucking love you?"

"Once or twice," I confirmed, "So, next Saturday?"

"That's my girl," Helen held me tighter, "Oh, I missed you, sweetheart. I'm so glad you're alright."

"I missed you, too, Helen." Whenever Mom and I would get into it (before Reid and I got our house together), I'd always see Helen. I'd vent to her about anything and everything. Mom, Reid, anyone else that crossed me that week. Hell, we'd even make fun of some of the more…difficult customers when we'd close. She was more of a mom to me than my adoptive mother. And I knew I could always count on her. If I had only thought of that when I moved in with Oliver. This whole mess could've been avoided. But if it weren't for this mess, I wouldn't have had Francis and Arthur. The little victories.

Helen checked her watch, "I have to get going. But I'll see you bright and early Monday morning, right?"

"Sure will, boss," I gave her a half hearted salute and watched as she walked out the door. Without thinking about it, I got up from my side of the booth and slid in next to Arthur, "You had something to do with this, didn't you?"

"I'd go to that café in the afternoon," Arthur smiled, "Not during your shift. But I loved it there, too."

I threw my arms around him, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he squeezed me back. I couldn't believe it. After all the bullshit Oliver put me through, I was finally going to get my life back. And it would be _my _life again, not what he wanted for me. Monday morning. I've never looked forward to a Monday more in my life, "So, Amy…How was that for a surprise?"

"I couldn't have asked for a better surprise," I laid my head on his shoulder, "Oliver got arrested. I'm getting my job back. Not much can make this day better."

"Well," Arthur pointed out, "It's still early in the day. I can bet that Francis still has Gilbert and Antonio over. Where would you like to go? Anywhere you want. Nothing is off the table."

"Anywhere?" There was one place I had in mind.

"Anywhere."

"If it's alright," I requested, "Could we go to the thrift store?"

"Really?" Arthur perked up.

"I understand if it's not your…"

"Finally!" he cheered, "Alfred won't ever go with me. Mattie's usually busy. Francis doesn't get it. I finally have someone who can appreciate a good charity shop!"

"Oh, you are my dad," I melted inside, "You have to be."

"Last I checked," Arthur gave me a nod, "You really want to go thrift shopping?"

"Yes, please," I beamed, hardly able to contain myself, "I went to the one in town with Oliver once and I thought he was going to throw up. He didn't get it either, but he tried for my sake."

"Amy," he pulled me to his chest, "I love you. I love you so much. You do know if I could've kept you away from him…"

"Dad…" I hushed him, "I get it. I know. What happened happened. It's already over with. You couldn't do anything about it. You didn't know until it was too late. What matters is that we have each other now. Right?"

"Always." If I didn't know any better, I'd think a little tear just ran down Arthur's cheek, "Come on. Let's go see what they have, ok?"

"Ok," I slid out of the booth and Arthur followed behind me.

Hand in hand, the two of us walked down to the thrift store that I loved so much. And apparently, I wasn't the only one. It's still so hard to believe life was finally better. I'm still waiting for this to be a coma dream Oliver put me in with a little help from Xiao. But it was real. All of it. Maybe I'm finally home. Maybe I've been through enough. Maybe…Maybe this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. And with who I'm supposed to be with. For the first time in my life, things felt truly right.


	35. Farmer's Market

**A/N: Hi, friends! Did you miss me? I mean, I know this isn't my most popular story, but I'm sure I still have a few reading. And you know what? This week is for you. We'll be here every single day until Friday. But then, we'll also be ending this on Friday. I know. Sad, sad. But we'll be alright. It's been a fun run, yeah? I think so. But we're going to do a quick recap before we jump back in, k? If you're binging this, go ahead and skip this bit. Anyway…**

**Where we last left off, Amy was finally getting used to the idea of having her new family. And to make things even better, she's got a business partner and her old job back. Only this time with a lot more benefits. And we're going to look at that more this week, but you're pretty much caught up. Alright, ready? Go on. See you tomorrow x**

Sunday mornings were always my favorite. I didn't understand why, but every Sunday morning from the time I was little until now had such a special feeling. Maybe it wasn't meant for me to understand. However, I knew why this Sunday morning was special. I had a date. Granted, it wouldn't be at nine o'clock. If it were at nine o'clock in the morning, I'd think something was wrong with him. Or he's still up from the night before. I had time. And plenty of it. I opened my closet door and took a good look inside.

Let's see…It's not like I had to dress overly nice. It was brunch with Francois, not high tea with the Queen. I wasn't going to go overly fancy. A damn near threadbare t-shirt and a pair of denim cutoffs and my red sneakers falling apart at the seams would do just fine. I looked myself over in the mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Huh. Who knew I could be so fucking cute somedays? That's right…I did. I've come a long way from being a baby doll.

No. Amy, we're not going to do down that route. We're not going to bring up Oliver. Definitely not to Francois. I know better than to open up that can of worms. This isn't going to be our therapy sessions. It's just…It's just me wanting to spend time with an uncle I never knew I had. In a healthy way that doesn't lead us to getting drunk in his living room and discussing past traumas at the hands of the same man.

Although, I had a bigger challenge to face. Two of them, to be exact. One: The last thing I wanted to do was actually wake Francois up. He needs to do that on his own. I've seen that man when he's barely awake. It's not a pretty sight. And two: I need to get past Francis. Francois told me that our having brunch together would be between us. He didn't want Francis thinking this could be a regular thing that can happen with just anyone. And I understood that. If Francis finds me trying to sneak out of the house, I'm fucked.

But I'm a little old to be climbing out my bedroom window and down the trellis. Or, if this were the house I grew up in, the cable tower. But I digress. I can go right out the front door. I just need to be quiet about it. When I heard a beep coming from my phone, I grabbed it off my dresser. Huh. I wasn't expecting a text from Francois this early. But it was getting to be brunch time. At least I know he's awake. I won't have to use Matt and Allen as human shields. Neat. Carefully and as quietly as humanly possible, I tiptoed down the stairs and to the front door. By the looks of things, the house is pretty quiet. I should be in the clear.

"Well, well," a voice chimed from the living room. Shit, "You look awfully cute today, Amy."

"Morning, Mama," I bit the inside of my cheek. He can't possibly know. Everything's still fine.

"And where are you headed off to at this hour?" Francis wondered, his legs hanging over the back of the couch. Something tells me that if Arthur were to see that, they'd be smacked down instantly.

"It's barely ten o'clock," I pointed out.

"My question still stands."

Shit…I could hear Francois in the back of my head. Don't tell him, Amy. Tell him and I'll fucking cut you. Not doing it. Come on, Amy. You know damn well you can think on your feet, "There's a farmer's market today. I thought I'd go see what they had."

"That's nice," Francis awed, tossing me his keys. Holy shit. I wasn't expecting that. But bonus! He looked me over a bit closer, "You know, cheri, you look like you're going to brunch, not a farmer's market."

Damn, he's good, "Nope. Just the farmer's market."

"Alright then," he let it go, "Care for some company or will you be ok on your own?"

"I'll be fine," I promised, "It shouldn't be too difficult for me to handle."

"Fine," Francis moved from the couch to the chair just to pout, "I see how it is."

Ouch…I didn't realize Mama's guilt trip would hit so hard. But Francis was a level of extra that I'm not sure anyone could reach. Maybe Flavio. Maybe Alfred. But even for them, it wouldn't be easy. Little did Francis know, I didn't break that easy. I leaned over the couch and kissed his cheek, "I'll be back in a little while. Love you!"

Looks like I don't have to sneak out anymore. Hell, Francis gave me his fucking car keys! I jumped in the driver's seat of the silver Fiat in the driveway and took off toward the outskirts of town. Granted, I was already in severe need of a big ass cup of coffee, but I'm sure I'll pick one of those up soon enough. When I pulled up to Allen and Matt's house, Francois stood outside on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. Right now, I'm just impressed he got dressed this morning and not in the middle of the afternoon.

I rolled my window down, "Let me guess. Allen finally wore you down about smoking in the house, didn't he?"

"He was getting there," Francois threw the butt in the gravel driveway, "He's a fucking whiny little shit. That's for sure."

"So," I teased him a bit, "In simpler terms, you folded like a cheap suit?"

"Big time."

"I knew you were a big softy inside, Francois," I unlocked the doors and let him in.

"So," he brushed me off entirely, "Where did you tell my brother you'd be? Because I know damn well you didn't tell him about this."

"No," I shook my head, "I told you I wouldn't and dammit, I kept my promise."

"Good girl," Francois praised, "Did you sneak out of the house? You don't strike me as the stealthy type."

"You'd be amazed," I gasped, "I've snuck out of the house once or twice before."

"Not while you've been living with Francis," he assured, "He's next to fucking impossible to sneak past. Trust me. I've been trying to since we were little and I never could."

"I told him I was going to a farmer's market," I explained, backing out of the driveway, "He asked me if I wanted some company and I told him no."

"Wait," Francois perked up, "Is there really a farmer's market today?"

Wow…Don't judge a book by its cover, kids, "Really? You're down for a farmer's market?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I'm in. My weed guy runs a stall at the farmer's market in town."

"And…" I wasn't quite sure what to think right now. My brain was processing too much at one time, "He sells weed at the farmer's market?"

"If you know to ask him nicely," Francois elaborated, "Not everyone knows he sells his wares at the farmer's market, so we keep that between us."

"I'm no narc," I promised, "No worries. We could very well end up there. But coffee first."

"Absolutely," he agreed, "Definitely coffee first."

"Hey," I asked, "Can you make me a promise since we're here?"

"What is it, Amy?" Francois reached for his inside jacket pocket.

"Promise me you won't smoke in Francis's car," I requested, watching his hand fall back to his lap, "If we're really going to keep this between us…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he dropped it, "I get it. I promise. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I've smoked in here, but…For the sake of evidence."

"Thank you."

Now, I needed coffee right now more than I needed air, so I headed to the best place in town for just that. Even though it wasn't technically up and running yet. That's what happens when Helen gives me keys to the café before it's even open. But the machines were hooked up. The beans were there. And I had to learn how to use them sometime. What better guinea pig than me? And Francois, too.

"Hey, Amy?" Francois followed closely behind me as the two of us walked into the mostly empty café. Flavio had yet to get his fingers in here, "Don't get me wrong. I'm not going to judge anyone for breaking and entering. That'd make me too much of a hypocrite. But are you sure this is ok?"

"Totally," I assured him, "I mean, my name might be on the place, too. I'm not a hundred percent. When Helen gave me the keys, she told me I was her partner in this, so I guess that means it's cool I come in here whenever I damn well please."

"Alright then," he pulled up a barstool that must have been left by the previous tenants and took a seat, "If this place isn't even ready to open yet, what are we doing here?"

"The smell needs to soak into the brick," I jumped behind the counter, "I figured you'd be cooler with somewhere quiet. That way, there wouldn't be anyone within swinging distance if worst came to worst. Don't take this the wrong way, Francois, but you're the most non-people person I've ever met."

"That's very considerate of you, Amy," Francois shot me a quick air kiss, "But believe it or not, there are worse than me."

"Really?" I giggled, flipping on the machines. I had to learn how to use these sometime. What better time than now?

"There is worse than me," he assured, "If you were to meet Gillen, you'd understand. He's more non-people friendly than I am. But we're different kinds of non-people people. I can't stand them because they drive me batshit fucking crazy. He's genuinely afraid of people. I've never seen social anxiety worse than his. I'm talking shakes, panic attacks, the whole nine. It's not pretty."

"I thought you and him and Andres went out drinking from time to time," I remembered my conversation with Antonio from the other morning.

"If Gillen already has a buzz," Francois filled in the blanks, "Then, he's fine. For the most part. Depending on where he's at when we start. Our pregaming is usually done at my place. Then, we go out and get fucked up."

"You do realize…"

"Don't," he stopped me, "If you're going to give me the lecture, Amy, save it. Francis has beaten that dead horse for years. Maybe one day, I'll totally sober up, but let me keep my one vice."

"You smoke, too, Francois."

"And we're going to see my weed guy as soon as we leave here," Francois pointed out, "Aren't we?"

"For the sake of the cover story," I agreed, looking over my options here. I threw a handful of dark roasted beans into the grinder and thought about my syrups, "Hey, Francois?"

"Oui?"

"You feel like getting adventurous?" I wondered.

"Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy…" Francois sighed out, "If I had a nickel for every time I've been asked that, I wouldn't have had to do what followed for the sake of paying for my coke. Although, the last time I got asked that question, I got to top, so…Hindsight."

"We'll just file that under things that could've been left unsaid," I suppressed the memory already, "That's not what I meant. Do you trust my abilities?"

"You've made me coffee before, Amy," he pointed out, "I more than trust your abilities."

Aww…The good old days when I had no idea Francois was my uncle and not some random homeless guy. And when I thought Oliver was a good dude that just wanted what's best for me instead of some prick that wanted to make me his in the weirdest way. Amy, no. We went over this before you left this morning. Without that incident, I don't think I would've ever found out I was adopted. I wouldn't have Francis and Arthur in my life. I wouldn't have my brothers the way I have them now. And now, I can't picture my life without them. Any of them. Even Francois and his prickly nature. I'm glad we did this.

But just as important, I needed to get something caffeinated in his system as soon as humanly possible before he starts killing people. Let's see…I lined up all of the syrups in front of me and got to mixing. A couple pumps from the mocha bottle. A single pump from the hazelnut bottle. A little bit of the caramel. Huh…I could go one of two ways with this. I suppose I should ask.

"Hey, Francois!" I called out from behind the counter, "Hot or cold?"

"Surprise me," Francois had already mentally checked out, "Look, Amy, I know you're still new to the equipment here, but didn't you say you could have a latte done in three minutes? It's definitely been longer than that."

"I'm working on it," I poured a little vanilla creamer into it, just to balance things out. And because it's a bit on the warm side today and we're going to be spending some time outside, I threw it in the blender with a handful of ice and waited for it to come together. Granted, I had no idea what this was going to taste like. It could taste like ass for all I know. But I doubt it. If my calculations are right, it should taste something like Nutella. While I was waiting, I drew a caramel drizzle in the to-go cup. Yep. This is just like riding a bike.

When I pulled it off the blender and poured it into the cup, I handed it off to Francois with a straw stuck in it, "Thank you. It's about damn time."

"Wow, Francois," I hopped the counter again. I needed something, too, "I've had bitchy customers over the years, but none quite as backhanded as you."

"I'm up too fucking early," Francois glared a hole through me, "I haven't had any coffee today. I need another cigarette. And to top it all off, I have the patience of a three year old. Excuse the fuck out of me for being a little punchy."

"I love you, too," I blew him a kiss. Now, what kind of monster abomination was I in the mood for? As much as coffee would hit the spot right now, I kind of wanted some tea. Like green tea. With hibiscus. And cherry blossoms. And a hint of strawberry. That sounded nice. Although once I got started, I heard a sudden moan coming from the other side of the room, "Uh…Are you alright, Francois? Because if I didn't know any better, I'd think you just had a full on orgasm."

"It's not that," he clarified, "My god, Amy…I'm not usually one for cold coffee…"

"No!" I cut him off, "That's not cold coffee. First of all, it's a frappe with a little extra espresso in it because I care about your well being. Second of all, if that were iced coffee, that is meant to be iced. That's the way it's made. Cold coffee is hot coffee with abandonment issues. Get the fuck out of here with that shit."

"I didn't know you felt so strongly about it," Francois let it go, "But more importantly, this is absolutely fucking incredible."

"You're welcome," I smiled, immediately coming down from my tangent.

"And whenever you're done," he hoped, "Then, we can go to the farmer's market, right? Having coffee without weed feels weird to me."

"How often do you do that?" I wondered.

"Semi-daily," Francois thought it over, "It's not necessarily to make myself go numb, but I've been around a lot of years, Amy. My body doesn't function like it used to and all those little aches and pains pile up. That's when all I need to do is smoke a joint and I'm able to function."

"Yes," I agreed, putting my last pump of sweetener in my tea and running it through a different blender, "After I clean up here and finish my drink, we can go to the farmer's market. You weren't joking when you said you had the patience of a three year old."

"And you just gave that three year old espresso."

"Way to go, dumbass me," I teased, "I mean, if you wanted to make this move along a little quicker, you could start washing dishes, too."

"Fuck that," Francois put his sunglasses back on, "I don't work here. And I sure as fuck don't work here for free."

"I just made you a drink! That comes out of my paycheck!"

"I didn't ask you to bring me here." Now, I could see where Matt and Allen got it from. Francois was an exhausting creature, but he was also an exhausted creature. I could let him get by this once. But JUST this once. No more handouts.

I hurried up and washed out the blenders. As far as anyone was concerned, no one was here. The bricks smell like coffee because this place was meant to be the coziest café this town has ever seen. Not because I sort of broke in and used the machines for my own personal gain. Once things were all cleaned up here, we had a farmer's market to get to. I hadn't been to one since I was a kid. This should be interesting.

"Francois Bonnefoy, as I live and breathe," one of the vendors called out. Wait…I knew that voice, "My favorite customer!"

"Hi, Xiao." I KNEW I KNEW HIM!

"Really?" I shot Francois a look, "Xiao's your dealer?"

"You expected someone different?" Francois brushed me off, reaching in his inside pocket for his cigarettes and his lighter. Of course he's tat guy. It's an open air market. It's fair game.

"How you doing, Francois?" Xiao sorted out Francois's…usual request…under his counter.

"I've been worse," Francois reported, "Do we really need the bullshit small talk, Xiao? I just want my weed."

"But I like the foreplay," Xiao jabbed, glancing over at me, "And would you look at that? Hi, Amy."

"Hi, Xiao," I smiled sweetly, despite this being the asshole that sold Oliver the drugs that kept me complacent. Fortunately, Francois showed up just before he could start using the hard shit.

"How have you been?" Xiao asked. I knew exactly what he was getting at. Sure, with Francois, it was mere pleasantries, but with me? A different story.

"I'm not too bad," I told him, "Better than what I was."

"How have you been feeling?" Xiao pulled me around to his side of his stall and checked me over, "No nasty side effects? The shit I gave Oliver wasn't exactly nice."

"He didn't get to use any of the last stuff you gave him," I assured, "Francois got me out of there before anything really bad could get in my bloodstream."

"I was hoping so," Xiao let out a heavy sigh of relief, "What about from the other shit I gave him?"

"Well," I thought back, "I've been getting some light headaches recently, but nothing too overly alarming."

"That's to be expected, though," Xiao figured, "I didn't even see a fraction of what happened. I can only imagine…"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Xiao," Francois stopped him. I was starting to go into flashbacks. I'd hate to think about what ran through his head, too.

"Alright, alright," Xiao backed off, "So, what can I get for you?"

"You know what I want," Francois growled a little.

"Of course," Xiao pulled a little plastic bag out from under his register. Holy shit, dude. He did have a little operation going on under the table…counter…His scale, his product, and his bags were meticulously organized underneath the counter. Color me impressed. He handed it off to Francois, "I got you."

"Thank you, sir," Francois calmed down a little, "And we'll still keep this our secret, right?"

"I won't tell Andres."

"You're a good man, Xiao," Francois applauded, shoving his weed in his pocket.

"AMELIA ROSE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Oh, shit…I didn't like that. I didn't like that one bit, sir. And more importantly, I didn't like suddenly becoming the center of attention around an ass ton of total strangers.

"Hi, Francis!" Xiao waved.

"Not now, Xiao," Francis made a beeline for me, "You're not here buying what I think you're buying, are you?"

"No," I promised, "I…"

"Amy, hush," Francois cut me off, "Francis, relax. You were always the dramatic one, weren't you?"

"You don't get to tell her to hush," Francis stood his ground, "When you said you were going to the farmer's market this morning, Amy, I didn't think you were going to buy drugs. And with Francois, of all people!"

"Hurtful, Francis…"

"But…" I tried to defend myself, but heaven forbid if I got a word in edgewise.

"Francis," Francois had my back, though, "Don't yell at Amy for this. It's not her fault. It's mine. I wanted a little time alone with my niece. Is that too much to ask for?"

Fuck, Francois…You just took a massive bullet for me…Francis didn't know how to react. But Francois got him to calm down from his angry mother tirade, "No…I suppose not."

"Thank you."

But then, a giant smile crept across Francis's face as he threw his arms around both his brother and his daughter, "BUT IT'S SO CUTE! Why didn't you tell me? I would've let you two play together."

"Because," Francois tried to wiggle his way out of his embrace, but resistance was truly futile, "This was exactly what I was trying to avoid. If we're going to hang out, we don't need you sniffing around and trying to piggyback on it."

My God, Francois. You need to let your brother love you. Because deep down, he does. And I know damn well that out of everyone in this world, no one needs that kind of love more than you.


	36. Neo America

**A/N: Hi, friends. Welcome to day two. Day two is brought to you by Aleve. I'm not sponsored or anything, but I have a MASSIVE headache. And I should probably eat something, but it's miserable. And I hope to all things holy that it doesn't turn into a migraine. I'm going to go make a bagel. See you tomorrow x**

After a week of dealing with different distributors and getting back to work in a way I never thought I would, the café was almost ready to reopen. I still couldn't believe we managed to score such a prime location downtown. If Helen's going to keep this place open longer than the old one, I hope she's ready for the kind of clientele we're going to get later in the evenings. But since we were in the decorating stage, we had one new temporary employee to bring on. Fortunately, he and I were on good terms.

"UGH! WHY DOES NO ONE LISTEN?!"

That can't be good. When I walked into the café, it seems I've already interrupted one of Flavio's famous tantrums. I've never seen him go fully nuclear, but there's a first time for everything, isn't there? That poor boy ran around the nearly empty space like a chicken with his head cut off. Why did I have a feeling that this was about to be a disaster of epic proportions? Because it's starting to smell a lot like a disaster.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vargas…" one of Flavio's assistants cowered a bit, "I thought you…"

"I said the booth cushions are supposed to be _leather,_" Flavio growled, "This is _fucking vinyl!_ Do we look like a diner? Is this supposed to be a place where junkies show up at 2AM for blowjobs in the bathroom?"

"N…No…?"

"NO!" he snapped, "I want someone to get on those goddamn seats and send them back with fucking overnight shipping before I wrap my hands around someone's fucking throat! But before you do that, _Mindy_, I need some fucking aspirin! I think even _you _can manage that."

"Yes, sir!" If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was crying. I couldn't blame her.

Mother of God…Should I be scared? I gently put my hand on Flavio's shoulder. I didn't want to spook him, "Hi, Flavio…"

"Amy!" Flavio's face lit up as he kissed my cheeks, "Ciao, bella! Come va?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," I worried, "Are you doing ok?"

"It's so hard to find good help these days," he sighed out, his head resting on my arm, "I'm so happy you're here, tesoro. That way, I know I don't have to deal with incompetence anymore. I swear to Christ, I ask for so little. Why doesn't anyone want me to have nice things?"

"You have plenty of nice things," I assured him, "You're just demanding."

"But I'm worth it," Flavio smirked.

"I'm sure they're all trying their best," I hoped.

"They need to try better," he pulled himself back together, "But you have to admit, it does look great in here."

"That it does," I agreed, admiring the bohemian style Flavio decided to go with. There's something very cool and inviting about this place. Like it could be someone's trendy loft apartment. Soft lighting, muted tapestries, the beautiful exposed brick. It's amazing how just a few days ago, this place was just the appliances and the counters. Now, there's personality, "Thank you for doing this, Flavio. Really. We appreciate it."

"Anytime," Flavio brushed me off, "But don't sell yourself so short, Amy. You helped in here, too. Somewhat."

"This?" I gestured around the room, my arm flailing around, "This is _your _baby, Flavio. You have every right to be proud of this."

"Excuse me, Mr. Vargas?" a guy came up behind Flavio with a large package under his arm. Artwork, by the looks of it, "This just came for you."

"Finally," Flavio groaned, "Something is going my way today!"

"What's in the package?" I wondered, not remembering Helen saying anything about Flavio ordering more artwork.

"This is more or less a gift from me to the café," he explained, tearing off the paper, "You did say this place was my baby, but I wanted something in here that truly put my stamp on it."

The thought of Flavio's stamp worried me. For as long as I've known him, I've never seen him at a setting lower than powder keg. Still, I remained optimistic. As long as this wasn't a blown up version of his (or anyone else's) nudes, I'll be happy. I'm a simple girl who doesn't ask for much. However, when I peeled back the brown paper, the other side caught me by surprise. But a nice black and white portrait would tie the space together.

"What is this?" I blinked a few times, still having a hard time believing what I'm seeing.

"A piece of art from me to you," Flavio smiled, "I call it American Revolution. What do you think?"

"It's…" my heart skipped a beat, "It's me."

"You make a damn good model, Amy," he gave me a nudge, "It's too bad you're sticking around this café instead. Could you imagine the two of us traveling the world together? From one nation to another?"

"We'll see how the café pans out," I stipulated, "If in the next year, I'm totally unfulfilled, I'd gladly take you up on that offer. But for now, I need to be here."

"Fine."

"But one question…"

"Sure," Flavio allowed, "What's up?"

"Why this?" I wondered, "Why is it called American Revolution?"

"Because," he explained, "This picture was taken the night you decided to tell Oliver to fuck off. This was a night where, in hindsight, I couldn't be prouder of you. But now, you have this beautiful café downtown. I figured it'd be a nice symbol of the night you made some bad decisions. And a reminder of it in the best decision you've ever made. I think that made sense. If it didn't, make some lemonade out of that."

"I think I get what you're saying." This was a reminder to keep myself humble. To keep myself on the straight and narrow, but deviating from that once in a while isn't so terrible either. It's where memories are made and lessons are learned. And I loved this picture. Mostly because it makes me look kind of badass, "Thank you, Flavio."

"You're very welcome, tesoro," Flavio kissed my cheek, "We'll call this a passion project."

"Hey, Amy?" Helen broke us up, "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Duty calls," I shrugged, "Later?"

"Of course," Flavio nodded.

I walked over to Helen hiding off to the side, "What's up?"

"It's about Flavio," Helen shot glances over my shoulder while Flavio continued bitching at his help, "He's exhausting, Amy…"

"He's relentless," I clarified, "But yes, he has his moments."

"But I'm totally worth it!" Flavio chimed in. I adore him.

"Remind me again," Helen wondered, "How did you manage to land Flavio Vargas again?"

"He's a friend of mine," I admitted, "Actually, if you want to get technical, he's a distant cousin."

"Cousin?" she gave me a look, "How in the hell…? Which side?"

"Mama, I think…" I'm pretty sure Allen said Flavio was Francois's cousin, making him Francis's cousin, too. Therefore, distant cousin.

"Your mom?" Helen thought it over, "I don't see the family resemblance between Flavio and Katherine."

"No, no, no," I shook my head, "She's not biologically my mother. I just found out a few weeks ago that I was adopted. My birth mother."

"Ok," she nodded, "That makes a lot more sense. So, you and Flavio are related?"

"Yep."

"That explains why you have such an eye," Helen assumed, "It must run in the family on your mother's side."

"It's very possible." I've never seen Francis do anything overly artistic, but fuck, I've never seen a man more impeccably dressed than either Flavio or Francis. They work.

"So, sweetie," she changed direction, "What's the occasion you're in here?"

"Just thought I'd check in," I told her, "Make sure Flavio's head isn't getting too big."

"I heard that, Amelia!" Flavio squeaked from across the room, "I could be so much worse than this and you know it!"

"I know," I had flashbacks to the night we met. But I must admit. I looked damn good that night. The picture is worth a thousand words. And that one is a rich tapestry of a rough past that I managed to come out on the other side. Good for you, Amy.

"But really, Ames," Helen asked, "What brings you all the way down here?"

"Really," I assured, "I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was going ok. When was the soft opening again?"

"It's tonight," she remembered, Flavio's ear perking up again, "Why?"

"Hey, Amy…" Flavio slid over to me, "You don't mind if I invite a few friends to this soft open, do you?"

"It is going to be a party," I pointed out, "Why not pack the place with bodies?"

"I don't know, Amy," Helen worried, "We don't need riffraff in here destroying the place already."

"They won't be riffraff," Flavio promised, "Well…At least not too much riffraff. It's just a few!"

"It's fine with me," I looked over to my boss, "What about you?"

"Well…" she thought it over, "I guess it'd be ok. But keep things classy please."

"Yay!" Oh, tonight's going to be messy. I could smell it already.

"But since I got you here," Flavio took my hand, "Do you think you could stick around and help? The ones I brought are driving me fucking insane and I could use someone with a brain in their head."

"I can't," I winced, "I need to get to class. But I promise I'll be back before the opening."

"Ok," Helen sighed out. Poor thing had to deal with Flavio on her own. She'll be ok. Helen's pretty resilient.

"Love you, Amy!" Flavio threw his arms around me, "Kiss your brother for me."

"Will do!" By the sounds of the rumbling engine outside, I think he's already here. When I walked outside, Alfred's Mustang pulled up to the curb. That's funny. We have Alfred's Mustang, but no Alfred, "GTA again, Allen?"

"No," Allen swore, "I did ask…Kind of."

"I love you," I hopped over the door and nestled down into the seat, "Oh! And by the way…"

I gave Allen a little kiss on his cheek, making him go red, "What was that for?"

"It was a message…"

"Next time you see Flavio," he assumed, "Tell him I say hi, too."

"Tonight," I nodded, "I'll see him tonight. And you'll be there, too, right?"

"Of course!" Allen scoffed, "This is a big night for you. It's like a milestone of your freedom again. A first step in you getting your life back together."

"Wow," I felt a warmth in my chest, "That was beautiful, Allen."

"Besides," he beamed, "Since you'll be back working at the café, I get free coffee again!"

"NO!"

"Fine," he let it go, "You're such a buzzkill."

"Actually," I shoved my finger in his shoulder, "I did expand the café's menu with you in mind."

"Really?" Allen chimed, "How?"

"Our vegan options are a bit more than just the cinnamon twists now."

"Amy…" he awed, "Thoughtful. But I still need them to pass a test."

"What do you got?" I kicked my sandals off and put my feet up on the dash.

"Is everything locally sourced?" Allen asked.

"As local as we could."

"Ethical?"

"Yep."

"A hundred percent animal free?"

"Yes."

"Good girl, Amy," Allen praised, "Good girl. It's about time a local business cares about their product more than they do the money."

"We make ours with just a little extra love," I smiled, "And not just for us."

"Wonderful," he pulled into the school's parking lot and killed the engine, "Are you sure you're ready to go back, Amy?"

"I'm sure," I nodded, immediately attempting to go to a happy place. Let's see…Sitting in the café with Francois was pretty nice. A certain bathtub that belonged to someone who will remain nameless. I'd be ok.

When I walked back into the classroom, my body relaxed. Weird. That's never happened before. I knew exactly what changed, but I didn't think it'd be this big a deal. Regardless, it'll be nice to get back into a routine again. Work, class, home, occasionally treating myself on Sundays when the café is closed. It's just that I have a whole new family to share that routine with now. I put my bag down on my usual seat and took out my beautiful notebook. Hello, old friend. Did you miss me? Because I missed you. Now, for the fun part…

"Excuse me…" I tapped on the shoulder in front of me, "Professor?"

My professor turned around and looked at me dumbfounded, "Miss Williams…Where have you been? I thought you dropped my class."

"No," I took a good, deep breath, "I was tied up for a while. And things weren't going very well for me personally. I'd rather not go into detail. Could I have the notes I've missed?"

"What happened?"

Did I not just tell him I didn't want to get into it? Because I'd really rather not relive what I went through, "If it's alright with you, I'd like to keep that private."

"Then, you should've been here," the professor blew me off, "I'm sorry, but that's the way things are."

"Look," I stood my ground, done with being pushed around, "I've been nothing but…"

"Sit down, Miss Williams."

"I've been nothing but a jewel in this class," I growled, "I've always gotten high marks on everything. I've always been on time. I miss a couple weeks due to things well beyond my control and you do this?"

"I'm not here for the sob story." What a heartless son of a bitch, "Go sit down."

"Listen," I kept my voice down, but I was not moving, "You want to know what happened? I got kidnapped. I was put through some unspeakable things that I never ever want to think of again."

"I'm sure you did." Ok. Now, he's just being an asshole to be an asshole, "If I've heard one excuse, I've heard them all. And kidnapping might just be the worst one."

"Excuse me?" I may shove my fist down this man's throat, "It's not an excuse. It's true. You know the guy they've been talking about on the news? The one with the kidnapping and spousal abuse charges? The one that the police are holding his name?"

"What about it?"

"I know it," I snarled, "I know his name. I know his house. Every inch of it. Because I'm the reason why he was arrested. He's my uncle by blood. What he's done to me? He's done to Allen, too, if you want to check my alibi. Maybe not quite to the extremes he went with me. But Allen had been up for days wondering if I was still alive or not. It's not like I'm asking you for a fucking kidney. I just want the notes I missed, so I can move on with my life. Is that too much to ask for? Please."

I had him. There was nothing I loved more than seeing someone's smug face dissipate. And for whatever reason, a lightness returned to my chest. I felt so much better. My professor reached into his filing cabinet and gave me the master copy of the notes, "I'd like that back by the end of next week."

"Thank you," I gladly took the binder from him and bounced back up the stairs to my seat. That wasn't too hard, was it?

"Wow," Allen gasped, "Angry Amy. I never thought I'd ever see that kind of fire in you, doll."

"What can I say?" I shrugged, "Young, scrappy, and hungry."

"Oh yeah," he giggled, throwing an arm around me, "You have to be my sister."

"Well," I laid my head on his shoulder, "Someone has to be the brain cell between you and Alfred."

"Hey!"

"What?" I teased, "You can't tell me I'm the one with custody of the brain cell."

"Well…" Allen bit his lip, "You're not wrong."

"Thought so."

I love my big brother.


	37. Soft Open

**A/N: Hi, friends! Welcome to day three. Now, today is going to be a long one, so I highly suggest getting a drink and a snack before you start. **

Once class was over, I had to haul ass back home. The soft open party started at eight. I needed to be there by seven. By the time I got home, it was already shortly after six. Is it weird (or, if we're being honest here, sick) to miss Oliver right now? The whole convenience of him picking out my clothes for me would come in handy. Although, I don't think he'ed know how to dress anyone over the age of five. For something a little more adult, I'd need Flavio's closet. No. I am more than capable of doing this on my own. This is the first time in ages that I get to be completely and unapologetically me.

Yet, I stared into my closet of limited options with nothing to excite me. This shouldn't be this hard. I groaned into one of my pillows, spiraling into the black hole sucking away my creativity and inspiration. Luckily for me, I heard the pitter patter of footsteps coming up the stairs. Please be someone here to help. Because I'm drawing a fucking blank and I'm this close to flinging myself out a window.

"Amy?" Oh, thank God. Salvation, "Are you alright, cheri? You look like your father after he finished Downton Abbey."

"My closet is a disappointment," I laid my head on his hip, "Hey…Mama?"

"Oui?"

"Could you help me?" I asked, my fingers crossed.

"Of course I will!" a beautiful light flickered in his eyes, "Maybe I should call Flavio, too."

"As down for that as I'd be, "I agreed, "I have a feeling he's doing the same thing I am, so we'll leave him alone."

"Could call Feliks…" Francis thought it over, "But…"

"Who's Feliks?" I wondered, "In the grand scheme of things. I'm assuming he's a nation, too."

"He's a fucking diva, is what he is," he chuckled to himself, "But yes. He's a nation, too. Poland, specifically."

"It's just…" my hands started shaking, "There's a lot riding on this night. It has to go well. If it doesn't, the café is doomed to tank. It's bad enough Oliver took the first one away from me. I can't let that happen again."

"Amy," Francis wrapped his arms around me, doing his best to calm me down, "It's ok. No one is taking this away from you. You've earned this, cheri. You'll be ok. Oliver's not going to come back and take it away. More importantly, he's not going to take you away. But you and I have this handled. Now, where should we start?"

"Good luck finding anything in there," I buried my face in his shoulder, coming down from the brief moment of panic that overcame me.

"It's too bad we don't have time to go shopping," he groaned, cradling me against his chest, "You have no idea how much I look forward to the first time we do that together."

But then, a lightbulb clicked on in my head. The time consuming thing about shopping is usually all the options. And me being an incredibly indecisive creature. If I go somewhere with the same limited options as my closet, but with a wider variety, I may be able to pull this off, "I think I have an idea."

"I'm listening."

"What if," I suggested, "we go down to the thrift shop? I'm sure they'll have something."

"Really?" Francis cringed, "A thrift shop, Amy?"

"Why not?"

"You really are your father's daughter," he held his face in his hands, "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. It's just…not a great one."

"Thrift stores are wonderful," I swooned, "You never know what you'll find. And I've found many a good vintage piece in a thrift store. An old concert t-shirt. A good leather jacket. Or hell, a good bomber jacket would work, too. A cute, vintage skirt and a pair of combat boots and I'm all set!"

"Alright," Francis caved, helping me up from my bed, "If you're that bound and determined, who am I to stop you?"

I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek, "Merci, Mama."

"De rien, mon amour," he took my hand, "Shall we?"

And so, I've made another believer. Thrift stores are so underappreciated. The one in town would always be my favorite. So cozy. So quaint. And totally where I got my prom dress. Mom said she'd be ok with spending a little extra money for it, but I found one here with a major eighties vibe I fell in love with. Totally worth it. Let's hope we can recapture that lightning in a bottle.

"Amy," Francis started looking for my jacket, "Do you have a color preference?"

"Brown, if you find a bomber jacket," I told him, "Black, if it's leather. Why? Find anything yet?"

"Not quite," he reported, "Give me a few minutes and I'm sure I'll find something."

"That's the spirit," I lost myself in the rack behind him. A few skirts happened to catch my eye. But I wasn't sure which one I wanted to take home with me. Hold the phone. Why should I pick? The idea of this trip was to pick something and get the hell out as soon as I could. But I didn't want to pick…Picking one of these would be like picking a favorite child. But then, another idea struck, "Hey, Mama?"

"Yes, Amy?" Francis cranked his neck back.

"You wouldn't happen to have a sewing machine back home, would you?" I hoped.

"I do!" he chirped, "Why? What did you have in mind? Because if you're looking to make your outfit in time for tonight, I think you might be a little late."

"It's not necessarily that," I threw three skirts in the basket. One black leather, one white lace, and one a bright red, Catholic schoolgirl plaid, "I can't make up my mind, so I'm Frankensteining something together."

"That's awfully ambitious, don't you think?"

"It's not like I can't do it," I assured him, "In fact, I know damn well I can. How are you coming along in the jacket department?"

"I'm not finding anything for you," Francis winced, "I'm sorry, Amy. But it was worth a shot. Everything's either too big or too small."

"I hate when that happens," I grumbled, bringing myself back up in the same breath, "No worries. If all else fails, I can always borrow Allen's leather jacket. I'm sure he wouldn't have a problem with it."

"You know, Amy," he thought out loud, "I'm so glad things with you and Allen are as good as what they are."

"What do you mean?" I wondered, "That we turned out to be best friends?"

"Yeah," Francis nodded, "Because things could've gone so very, very south with you finding out what you really are. You could've ended up a drooling mess because of it being so overwhelming. You could've rejected your father and me entirely because of Oliver and Francois. It's just…Things could've been different. And I'm glad they went the way they did. With the exception of Oliver."

I wrapped myself around Francis's waist, "I love you, too, Mama. It's still a lot to take it. It's not every day someone finds out they're the human embodiment of an entire country, but I suppose we just take it day by day, right? Isn't that the kind of shit they teach in rehab?"

"But you're not an addict, cheri," he kissed the top of my head, "I don't think you take much after your uncle. Either one of them."

"There were a few things Oliver and I had in common," I admitted, "But Francois and me? We're related. If that counts."

"Absolutely," Francis agreed, looking into the basket, "Now, what did you find?"

"I found my skirts that I'm cutting up and putting together," I reported, "But that's about it. None of the band t-shirts are for good ones."

"You know," he suggested, "If you're looking for vintage band t-shirts, there's a box in the back of our closet you may be interested in. Your father went through a phase in the seventies. It was…Interesting…To say the least. The only time when his fashion choices concerned me and piqued my curiosity. Oh, Amy…Mon dieu…He looked so good in a tight pair of leather pants…"

"Things I don't need to know, Mama," I shuddered, getting flashbacks to the Acapulco story.

"Sorry," Francis giggled, "I guess I just got lost in thought. Did you find everything you needed?"

"I found what I was going to get," I grumbled, "It's too bad I couldn't get the whole outfit here, but this is a good start."

"That's my girl," he nudged me toward the front counter, "It really is unfortunate I couldn't find your jacket. I might have found a thing or two for me, but I digress. We weren't here for me."

"See?" I smirked, "I told you this place was awesome!"

"No need for the I told you so, young lady," Francis shoved his finger in my face, "But I understand. It does have its charms."

I quietly high fived myself and checked out. This is going to be interesting. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to piece this skirt together, but I knew they were all going to go together in the end. Maybe I could layer them? No…That's be too much. Or would it? That might be the way to go. Plaid on the bottom, lace in the middle, and leather on the top? I'm kind of down for it. But again, I'm going to have to really haul ass on it. We're running against the clock here, Amy. There's no room for error.

As soon as we got home, I sat down at Francis's sewing machine and got to work. It's just a matter of attaching the three of them. While I was working, Francis came in with a big box and dropped it on the floor next to me, "Here, Amy. This is everything."

"Thank you, Mama," I knew what was in there. If those were all of Arthur's t-shirts from a phase he went through in the seventies…Why did I have a feeling he went through a little bit of a punk phase? At least I'm hoping so. Because a vintage concert t-shirt from a UK punk band would work very nicely with the skirt I'm putting together.

"You're welcome," Francis sat across from me, "I see you're coming along nicely."

"Doing what I can," I nodded, finishing off the bottom hem. For a brief moment, I gave serious consideration to fraying the bottom with a lighter, but I didn't have a lighter on me. Fortunately, I knew someone who might. Maybe later in the evening. That is, if he shows up. And I really hope he does.

"Do you need anything else?" he offered.

"I think I got it covered," I cut my skirt free from the machine and held it up, "Well? Thoughts?"

"It's cute as hell," Francis applauded, "But don't you think it's a little short?"

"I mean…" I blushed a little, "Yeah. It is kind of short…"

"Amy…" he stared blankly at me

"Hmm?"

"I was joking," Francis smiled, "You're a big girl. You want to rock a short skirt? Far be it for me to say no. Your father might have a problem with it, but that's his problem. Me on the other hand? It's cute as hell!"

"Thank you, Mama!" I think I'm going to like it here.

"Go try it on," he insisted, "I need to see it on you."

"I do, too," I opened up the box of treasures that awaited me, "But I need something to go with it…"

Holy shit. Francis wasn't kidding. Arthur did go through a phase. And thank God, I was right. For a girl with a soft spot for vintage band t-shirts, this was better than Christmas. A lot of these looked like tour shirts. These were really fucking cool. Once I got to the bottom, I found the one. And I think I may keep this without Arthur knowing. The Anarchy in the UK Tour. When the Clash and the Sex Pistols were on the same bill.

"That's the one you're going with?" Francis gasped.

"Why?" I wondered, holding it up to my chest, "I like it."

"I'm not saying that's a bad thing," he assured, "I remember that night. It was so cold outside. But it was also toward the end of December. Your father and I stood outside the Roxy Theatre in London for an hour and a half waiting to get inside. And when we did get in, he and I managed to get separated. You see, Amy, this was back during a time where Arthur wouldn't hesitate to pick a fight."

"Arthur?" I looked at him strange, "Daddy dearest, who wouldn't hurt a fly, who is a gentle, albeit bitter lamb, had a 'fight me, mate' phase?"

"Where do you think you and your brothers get it from?" Francis giggled, "Certainly not me. I'm more of a lover than a fighter. I know it's hard to believe, but there was a time where I swear he told himself that he'd kick his own ass. Isn't he adorable?"

"Just the cutest."

"But that was the problem," he went on, "Arthur couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag."

"Excuse me?" a familiar, bitter voice chimed at my door, "I couldn't what?"

"Angleterre!" Francis lit up, "It's always a pleasure to see you, mon amour."

"Don't you give me that, frog," Arthur grumbled, "What were you saying?"

"Nothing," Francis did his best to play innocent, but I have a feeling Arthur already knew, "Merely reminiscing about old times. Particularly the night where we stood outside for over an hour just so you could get your ass handed to you."

"Wait…" Arthur thought back, "Was that when we went to see the Clash and the Sex Pistols?"

"The Anarchy in the UK tour," I chimed in, "And yes. We were roasting you extra crispy."

"I thought so," Arthur pulled up a seat, "That was a fun night, whether you want to admit it or not. However, that was…a long time ago. We've grown up since then."

"So," I wondered, "Does that mean I can borrow your tour shirt?"

"Wait, what?" Arthur looked over at the black t-shirt in my hand, "Who said you could go through my things?"

"Mama." Sorry, Mama.

"Of course he did," Arthur sighed out, "I'm not surprised."

"If it makes you feel any better…" I peeled my current shirt off and threw my new one on, "I do pull it off quite nicely."

Arthur let out a soft gasp. And in his eyes, I swear his life flashed before them, "Why does that fit you perfectly?"

"Why don't you let her have it, Arthur?" Francis insisted, "Go on, cheri. Go finish getting dressed. I need to see what you've done."

"Okie dokie!" I ran into the bathroom with my skirt in hand and my giant black boots. If need be, these also could be used as a weapon. They were heavy as hell, but I loved them all the same. It'd be worth the extra weight on my feet for the extra height. Allen liked to make fun of me for being short, but karma would be served when Matt walked into the room. And I couldn't complain. It's not that I had a problem with my height. It's just…not advantageous at times. But I would persevere.

Since I'm already this far down the rabbit hole (and with a cool twenty minutes to get a photo finish), I might as well take care of the rest of me, right? Fortunately, I had all I needed. A good liquid eyeliner, a sparkly, clear gloss, a foundation that perfectly matched, a mascara that was a hundred percent tear proof, and a steady hand. I had this in the bag. Although, while I stood in my bathroom, putting myself together, I think I might have heard Arthur having a midlife crisis. Can nations have a midlife crisis? Or do we just have multiple throughout history? I don't know. I had a lot to learn about what I am, but one day at a time.

I looked myself over in the mirror on the back of my bathroom door. Damn, bitch. Tell me you're out to find a man tonight. Because holy shit, I look good. I couldn't help but do spins in front of this mirror. And for the first time in a very, very long time, I felt complete. Welcome back, Amy. We missed you. And look at that. You did all of this (mostly) by yourself. All you really needed was a sounding board and that's what I had Francis for. I didn't need Allen's jacket (even though it'd tie everything together nicely). But I was definitely ready for tonight. I have this handled.

"Mama?" I walked back into the study and did a few spins, "Well? What do you think?"

"Well, Amy…" Francis looked me over with Arthur's head in his shoulder, "If you were out to shake off anything left of Oliver, I'd say you succeeded. And you're incredibly cute while doing it."

"Thank you!" I chirped. Exactly what I was going for.

"Arthur?" Francis gave him a nudge, "Our daughter is looking for a second opinion."

"Aren't you her second opinion?" Arthur assumed.

"First opinion."

Arthur looked up from Francis's shoulder, his eyes slightly bloodshot and almost falling out of his head, "Wow…You really do take after me, don't you, Amelia?"

"What?" I looked at him strange, "Mama said I looked more like him."

"Not entirely like him," Arthur clarified, "That might just be his ego getting in the way."

"Arthur!" Francis whined.

"You do have more of me in you than your mother," Arthur wrapped his arms around me, "Look at you, Amy…It's a shame we didn't get to see you grow up, but…"

"What matters is that you have me now," I cuddled into his embrace, "And as much as I'd love to keep doing this, I need to get to the café as soon as humanly possible."

"What do you think, Angleterre?" Francis suggested, "Should we call Feliciano to give her a ride?"

"Bloody hell, Francis!" Arthur squeaked, "Are you fucking high?! Do you not want her to make it there in one piece?!"

"Um…" I wasn't quite sure what was happening here.

"Italy," Francis laughed, "That boy's got the world's worst lead foot. When he was at his boyfriend's house once, his boyfriend's brother gave him the friendly reminder that his roads didn't have speed limits. Needless to say, he left with some wicked whiplash. You've met his boyfriend's brother!"

"Which one is that?" I wondered.

"Gilbert," Francis clarified, "Prussia. Our dear, beloved Prussia."

"Speak for yourself," Arthur grumbled.

"Well," I kissed them both, "I'm going to head to the café. Pray for me."

"Will do," Arthur promised, "Be careful."

"You guys are coming tonight, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, darling."

"Thank you!" It's always nice to have solidarity from my parents. Support feels nice.

And I was going to need it. When I got to the café, the line outside was already down the block. Oh, shit…It's going to be…a force. There's no way these are all Flavio's friends. At least I hope not. It wouldn't surprise me, though. Helen did say Flavio was a bit of a socialite. I'm not judging. I just hope we have plenty of help tonight. When I walked in through the front door (with everyone in line behind me complaining. I fucking run the place. I get to go in first.), I scanned the room for Helen. Although, I will say this. Flavio did a _damn nice _job in here.

"Helen?" I called out into the empty café, "I'm here, boss!"

"Good!" Helen chirped from the kitchen, coming out to greet me, "Get behind the bar, sweetie. It's going to be a busy night."

"Hey, Helen?" I looked over at the giant whiskey barrel by the front counter, "What's with the whiskey barrel? Did we get a liquor license and you not tell me about it? Because that feels like something I should know about."

"No," she shook her head, "That's the tip jar for tonight. Flavio said tonight would be big and having a tip _jar _would be a bad idea. And the whiskey barrel just has a nice aesthetic to it, don't you think?"

"You've been spending way too much time with the little Italian kid," I giggled, jumping over the counter. Oh, yeah. It's good to be home.

"He's exhausting," Helen admitted, "But damn, he's fun to be around. When he wants to be."

"If that's not Flavio Vargas in a nutshell," I agreed, "But are we ready to open?"

"The pastry case is full," she ran down the list, "The machines are good and warmed up. We got a baker in the back. I got my favorite barista in the world up front. We're missing someone, though. I may have hired a little extra help, so you wouldn't be so overwhelmed."

"Aww, Helen," I melted inside, "Thoughtful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she kissed the top of my head, "Go on. Make me proud, honey."

"When don't I?" I'm going to have to be on my A-game tonight. No phoning it in. No half-assing it. I got this, "Go ahead and open the doors, Helen!"

"My pleasure!"

And in a matter of minutes, this place was packed from wall to wall. I'm sure the fire marshal is going to pay us a visit sometime tonight. To which we give him a free drink and a pat on the head and send him on his way. While kicking a few people out. But I knew tonight was going to be a good night. Here I was worried that we were going to tank because I couldn't find something cute to wear. Here I am, cuter than all hell, and back to doing one of the few things in life that brought me joy. Fuck, it's good to be home! Everything is back to being high traffic and higher stakes. If this goes well, we'll never have to worry about getting shut down ever again.

"Sorry I'm late, boss," a familiar voice piped up, jumping behind the counter, "I got caught up doing some other things. But if you don't mind me saying so, you look awfully cute this fine evening."

"No worries, sweetie," I brushed him off. But then, I realized who Helen hired as my help, "Allen?"

"Yeeeees?" he grabbed an apron from under the register.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I gave him a look, "There's no way you're here to help."

"What else would I be doing here?" Allen shrugged, "I told you I would be getting free drinks from here again. I asked Helen for a job. She said yes. And here I am."

"Helen!" I called for her.

"Yeah, sweetie?" Helen appeared next to me.

"Did you seriously hire Allen Jones of all people to help out here?"

"What the hell, Amy?" Allen clutched his chest, "I'm hurt."

"Come on, Amy," Helen defended him, "Look at that pretty face of his. You can't tell me that's not going to draw in some customers. I mean…If he took the metal out of it."

"Not happening," Allen stuck to his guns, reflexively playing with his lip rings.

"So," I came to again, "This is real?"

"Yeah," Helen nodded, "He's already trained up, Amy. Good luck!"

"Besides," Allen kept his voice down, "You can't tell me this isn't a fantastic way to pick up guys."

"We have a job to do, Allen," I held my face in my hands, "But yes. I totally agree with you. And if you're so down for that, go grab the next customer."

"Ok…" Allen glanced over my shoulder, a giant grin stretching across his face, "Jackpot…"

"What?" I turned around and got a good look at this very large gentleman who definitely got here by beanstalk.

"Hey, Viktor…" Allen waved. My god, he's like a little schoolboy who just bumped into his crush. It's weirdly cute. I've never seen him flirt before.

"Viktor…" I thought it over, "I know him…"

"And I know you," Viktor looked me over, "You're little brat Oliver kept. What are you doing here?"

"She runs the place," Allen bragged me up, "We're so proud."

"You speak like she's your mother, Allen," Viktor grumbled.

"Nope," Allen hugged me tight, "Little sister. Isn't she adorable?"

"Dial it back, Allen," I insisted, "What can I get you, Viktor?"

"I'll make it myself!" Allen bumped me out of the way. Bless this boy.

"Black," Viktor ordered, "Nothing else."

"Really?" I wondered, "Nothing in it?"

"Nyet."

"Ok…" I wasn't going to question it anymore. Was it weird that he came into a place known for specialty lattes and ordered a black coffee? Sure, but I'm not going to stop him, "Go on, Allen."

"Yes, ma'am!" Allen punched in the order on the register and took Viktor's money. However, once his coffee was in its designated cup, he wouldn't let him have it. Instead, Allen put his hand out, "Viktor…Give."

"What?" Viktor wondered, "Are you on new medication?"

"You know damn well what," Allen knew better, "I know how you take your coffee. And I know you have one on you."

"Smart little shit," Viktor took a flask out of his inside jacket pocket. I had no idea what was in it, but I also wasn't going to ask.

Allen popped the top on it and started pouring. And the smell hit me. I knew exactly what that was. That was my freshman year of college. Usually, I'd mix my vodka with Red Bull, but to each his own, "Tell me when."

He kept pouring until there was hardly a drop left. Viktor merely smiled, "When. Spasibo, Allen."

"You're welcome!" Allen was so proud of himself. It was all over his face. As Viktor walked away from the counter, he got a better view, "Mmm…Hate to see him go…"

"Hey," I threw him a towel, "Wipe up the drool on the counter. We got more customers."

"Got it!" I love my brother, but…sometimes, when he gets swept up in being lovestruck (or at least horny on main), he's laser focused…on what he doesn't need to be laser focused on.

But that was our night. The two of us slinging drinks to the best of our ability to as many people as possible. I'm glad we did end up getting the whiskey barrel for the tip jar. Because I watched a continuous stream of people shove different bills into the little slot at the top. Look at that, Amy. We're going to be ok. Toward the end of the night, the counter had died down completely and I finally got a chance to enjoy the spoils of our success.

"Amy! Amy!" a sweet little voice ran toward me and threw himself into my arms, "I'm so happy to see you're ok!"

"Oh…Hello…" I wasn't expecting him to attach himself to me, but he seemed awfully harmless. I'm not going to throw him out, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Do I know you?"

"Oh!" he giggled, "Silly me. You can call me Feliciano! I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm actually half of the nation of…"

"Italy," I cut him off, remembering the tales from earlier tonight, "I know all about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"I'm so happy to see you're safe," Feliciano hugged me tight, "Oliver can get kind of scary…"

"Thank you," I am a puddle inside. And I love him. I want nothing bad to ever happen to this little angel.

"Alright, Feli," a bitter, annoyed voice came up behind me, peeling Feliciano out of my arms, "That's enough. Leave her alone. If you want someone to smother with affection, go find Flavio. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to have some."

"Ok!" Feliciano detached himself from me and ran off. There was something familiar in the other one's face. Like I've seen it before. Only covered in more skin care products than God knew what to do with and incredibly blonde.

"I know who you are!" I squeaked, throwing my arms around him.

"Do you?" he wiggled in my embrace, trying to get out of it. Nope. Not happening.

"You must be Lovino," I loved him already.

"ANTONIO!" he called out, "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

"Si, cariño?" Antonio popped up out of nowhere, "Oh! Hola, Amy!"

"Hola, Tio!" I wasn't letting Lovino go. No one could make me.

"I don't know what Flavio told you about me," Lovino fought tooth and nail, "But LET ME GO!"

"Ok…" I caved, "Sorry…"

"I told you, Amy," Antonio pointed out, "He's a scrappy and excitable little shit."

"So, it's you I have to blame?" Lovino assumed, glaring through Antonio.

"Still," I jumped into Antonio's arms, "I'm glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Antonio promised.

"Hi, Lovino…" Allen crept up behind us, giving Lovino a little wink. And possibly a smack to the ass. I'm not sure about that one.

"Back the fuck up, Allen…" Lovino got defensive.

"Allen," Antonio stepped in, "We've talked about this."

"Oh, yeah," Allen pouted, "Sorry. I mean…Can you blame me, though? Like…Look at him."

"No one can blame you, amigo," Antonio put a hand on his shoulder, "But he's mine. Get your own."

"It's not like I can go after Luciano or Flavio," Allen whined, "I'd rather not deal with Lutz or Andres."

"Have you seen Andres tonight?" Antonio wondered, "I was kind of hoping to see him. Just to check in."

"I'm sure he's somewhere," I told him, "I've seen Flavio around at least half a dozen times."

"Good," Antonio sighed out. It's sweet to see them worry for each other.

"Hey," Allen caught me just as I was about to tip over, "You ok, doll? You seem like you could use a couple shots of espresso in your veins."

"I'm so fucking wrecked," I admitted, my fist in my eye, "It's been balls to the wall for the last week and a half and I'm destroyed."

"Do you want to go home, darling?" Arthur took me off Allen's hands with Francis following behind him.

"You look like you don't feel well, Amy," Francis worried, "Are you alright?"

"Just tired," I balled up in Arthur's arms, ready to pass out, "Can we go home?"

"Of course we can," Arthur promised, "Shall we?"

"Yes please…"

On the way home, I had my head against the window in the back seat of Arthur's car the whole way. If it weren't for the bumps in the road, I'd be passed out before we even hit the driveway. But the lights of downtown were kind of pretty. All the neon put my soul at ease. And I loved it. This feeling…Something about it…I never wanted it to go away. Like my new family. I loved them all just a little more. Even ones I had never met showed up here just for me. Never did I want to lose them again.

When we got home, Arthur helped me out of the car and steadied me up the stairs. In a way, it kind of threw me into Oliver flashbacks. But the good ones. The good times. Like when he took me in after Reid and I got into our last fight. Arthur took care of me, but he wasn't smothering me. Bless him.

"There we are," Arthur helped me into bed. Francis stood in the doorway. Just in case I started going into bad Oliver flashbacks, "Are you sure you're just tired, Amy? I'd hate the thought of you getting sick."

"I'm not getting sick," I promised him, "I really am just tired."

"Then, we should let you get some sleep," he pulled the blankets over me and kissed my forehead, "Good night, darling."

"Good night, Dad," I let out a little yawn and nestled down into my bed. However, I don't think he was expecting me to call him Dad. For all intents and purposes (and according to a DNA test), he is my dad. He's done more for me in the past two weeks than what my adoptive dad has done since day one. Of course I'd call him Dad. I've never seen Francis flinch when I called him Mama. I didn't think Arthur would mind either. And the smile on his face as he turned the lights out was all the proof I needed.


	38. Family Vacation

**A/N: Well, internet, it's day four. Tomorrow, we say goodbye. But for now, let's enjoy this little time we have left together, ok? x**

Last night kicked my ass. I can tell that my muscle for making lattes has atrophied a bit. Nothing a little practice won't help. And sleep…Sleep was my friend. I rolled over and looked at the clock. Just after seven. Good. That means I get to go back to sleep. I shut my eyes and slipped back into a sweet, blissful slumber.

Ring, ring!

Who…The fuck? I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. When did two hours go by? Someone needed to shut my phone up, "Hello?"

"Good morning, sweetie!" Helen sang on the other end.

"Morning, Helen." What the hell could she possibly want at this ungodly hour? Huh…Maybe I got more of my uncle in me than I thought, "is everything ok?"

"Everything is so much more than ok," she reported, "Amy, the soft opening party was a total success! With the money we made in tips alone, we could pay Francis back easily four times over. Last night may need to become a regular thing. On Friday nights, our café becomes a night club."

"That's great Helen," I sat up in bed, "Does this mean we could apply for a liquor license, too? Catch more flies with honey and all that?"

"Sounds like a plan," Helen approved, "Well, sweetheart, I thought I'd call and share the good news. Get your rest. We'll officially open Monday morning at seven o'clock. Got it?"

"Fine by me," I nodded.

"Enjoy your weekend!"

Click.

Neat. I'm thrilled we did so well last night and I understand Helen needed to share her excitement with somebody, but…That feels like something she could've told me in a text. But it's still a win. We can call that a win, right? And maybe now, I can go back to sleep with visions of my normal routine finally returning to my life. That is, until a bright light from the hallway blinded me. Fuck, what now? I just wanted to sleep in.

"Good morning, mon petite! I thought I heard you talking to someone up here and decided to come up to say hi!"

Ok. I can make an exception for him, "Morning, Mama. I got a call from my boss this morning. Apparently, we made a killing last night. We open full time on Monday morning."

"That's good to hear," Francis kissed my cheek, "Why don't you come downstairs? Your brothers are here."

"Which ones?" I had to ask these days.

"Alfred and Mattie." So, my brothers from this side of the family.

"I didn't hear Alfred come in." Usually he made a spectacle of himself every time he walked in a room.

"We've kept him muzzled and leashed," he helped me up, "You were still asleep and heaven forbid we don't let you get proper rest."

"Thank you," I really hope he was speaking metaphorically.

I followed Francis downstairs, still in my pajamas, and sat at the island in the kitchen. Thank God, there's coffee made. In a perfect world, I would've had the grinder and the milk steamer out, but at this point, I didn't care. It didn't matter if it was made ten minutes ago or an hour ago. As long as it was still hot, I'd be a happy girl.

"Amy!" Alfred draped his arms around my shoulders, "Morning, squirt."

"Who the fuck do you think you're calling squirt?" I squeaked.

"You," he squished me, "If I can't pick on you once in a while, what's the point of having a sister?"

"Mattie," I looked for salvation, "How long does this last?"

"He still picks on me," Mattie pulled me into his arms, "Good morning, Amy."

"Morning." He really is like hugging a marshmallow. And I love it.

"So, Arthur," Alfred took the empty seat next to me, "What's the occasion you brought us all together this morning?"

"Are you busy today?" Arthur asked, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Not that I know of," Alfred figured, "Or at least nothing I can't blow off."

"Mattie?" Arthur looked to the other, "What about you?"

"No," Mattie shook his head, "I got nothing. Why?"

"Well," Arthur dropped a sugar cube into his cup, "I was thinking we could spend some time together. As a complete family for once."

"I'm in!" Alfred chirped.

"Me, too," Mattie smiled, "What were you thinking?"

"I don't know," Arthur thought it over, "I was hoping the three of you would have an idea."

"DISNEY WORLD!" Alfred screeched at the top of his lungs. Jesus Christ, this one was a handful.

"No," Arthur shot him down immediately, "You couldn't pay me to go anywhere near Florida. Forgive me for having moral standards."

"…Disneyland?"

"No, Alfred."

"Nothing out of town," I stipulated.

"What's the matter, Amy?" Francis wondered, "Not in the mood for travel?"

"Not today," I just got a slight semblance of home. I don't want to leave it quite yet.

"Alright then," Arthur could get on board with that, too, "Where would you like to go?"

I gave it a thought for a moment or two. There was somewhere I hadn't been since my freshman year of high school. And it's a shame. It was one of my favorite places to go when I needed to be by myself, "You think we could go to the hiking trails on the outskirts of town?"

"Yeah!" Alfred approved, "Let's do that!"

"That does sound nice," Mattie was on board, too. Neat!

"Ok," Arthur finished his tea and put the empty cup in the dishwasher, "Let's do that."

"Go on upstairs, Amy," Francis nudged me, "Go get dressed. You can't go to hiking trails in your pajamas."

"Ok." I jumped down from my barstool and headed back upstairs to check the weather on my phone. Oh, and it's going to be a beautiful day. I grabbed a pair of dark denim shorts and a bright white crop top and went straight to the shower. Maybe a good, long trip on the hiking trails were just what I needed. My head is almost completely on the straight and narrow. What better way to end and start my week?

Once I was all dressed and had a full backpack with water and snacks, we all piled into Arthur's car. We would've taken Alfred's, but he didn't want to risk kicking rocks up and scratching it. Besides, Arthur doesn't trust Alfred's driving. I didn't understand why, but that's not for me to understand. Hopefully, my phone takes really good pictures. It wasn't often I pulled the camera out. And these trails were far too pretty to leave uncaptured. Even though I knew pictures wouldn't be able to do them justice.

"Hey, Ames!" Alfred leaned over to me, "You wouldn't happen to keep up with cryptid sightings, would you?"

"Oh, God," Arthur rolled his eyes, "Not this again, Alfred. There's no such thing as Bigfoot!"

"That's not true!" Alfred jumped on the defensive.

"Alfred," Mattie chimed in, "I'm pretty sure Arthur's right. If anyone here would know if Bigfoot existed, don't you think it'd be me?"

"Alfred's right," I agreed, "Bigfoot is totally real if you believe in him."

"Not another one," Arthur held his face in his hands.

But there was a certain twinkle in Alfred's eyes. And I think I might have found a kindred spirit, "Jersey Devil?"

"Mothman?" Alfred perked up.

"Nessie?" I couldn't hold back a smile if I wanted to.

"You ARE my sister!" Alfred threw his arms around me, "Oh, Amy, today's going to be a fun day."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Because," he grinned, "Bigfoot has been seen through here."

My heart stopped, "Does that mean…?"

"WE'RE GOING CRYPTID HUNTING!" Alfred squealed. And if we're being totally honest, his excitement was infectious. I got into cryptids just before Reid and I got together. He was a non-believer, too, but they consumed me. Even if they weren't real, the lore behind them is some fantastic storytelling.

Arthur let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, "I just wanted a nice family outing. Is that too much to ask for?"

"You brought Alfred along, Angleterre," Francis reminded him, "You knew something like this was bound to happen."

"I know," Arthur laid his head on Francis's shoulder, "But I didn't think Amy would be the same as him."

"Sorry, Dad," I giggled, "I got the cryptid bug, too."

"Hey, Arthur," Alfred thought, "You grew up around Lake Loch Ness, right?"

"Yeah…" Arthur nodded, "Why?"

"You didn't see anything…" Alfred crossed his fingers, "Odd…Did you?"

"Not that I remember."

"So," Alfred rested his chin on Arthur's shoulder, "You never saw her?"

"NO!" Arthur was ready to beat the shit out of him. I could tell, "I told you, Alfred, they're not real. There is no such thing as Bigfoot. There is no such thing as the Loch Ness Monster. There is no such thing as Mothman. They're all just stories!"

"Uh-huh…" Alfred grabbed my hand, "Come on, Amy. Let's go find a squatch!"

"Yay!" To the outside person, things would look like I was just pacifying him. No. I wanted nothing more than to find Bigfoot. That'd be fucking awesome! Few things would make me happier.

And so, we began our search. If there have been Bigfoot sightings in this area, we're bound to find something. We had to. Alfred had gotten a little further ahead than me, "Come on, Amy! Catch up!"

"Shut up, Alfred!" I whispered, "We don't want to let him know we're coming!"

"Good call," he dropped his volume, "Hey…Do you know how to lure a squatch out?"

"No," I shook my head, "Do you?"

"I do!" Alfred beamed, "Marshmallows. Bigfoot has a sweet tooth and it's a quiet food. No one will hear him eating and it won't give away his location."

"That's smart," I applauded, "You wouldn't happen to have any marshmallows on you, would you?"

"No," he pouted, "What about you? Didn't you say you brought trail mix, too?"

"I did," I nodded, "But I don't have any marshmallows in it."

"Damn…"

"Wait…" I stopped him. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I just heard something.

"What was that?" Alfred heard it, too. Good. I'm not going crazy. That's comforting.

"Shh…" I put my hand over his mouth. The sound of heavy breathing broke the silence.

"Amy…" he whispered, "Do you really think we're going to find a squatch?"

"It's not totally out of the question," I could feel my heart trying to escape my chest as the breathing got louder and heavier. It sounded more like a dog panting in a hundred-degree heat, but it was barely in the seventies. There's no fucking way that's a dog. The movement got louder, too. And closer. But then…A loud screeching sound echoed for miles.

"SQUATCH!" Alfred ran toward the screeching with reckless abandon. He was out to catch Bigfoot today if it killed him.

"OH MY GOD!" Unless Bigfoot learned to speak English, I don't think this was Bigfoot. Although, the voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"OH MY GOD!" That was Alfred. I knew that one, "AMY, DON'T COME OVER HERE. DON'T LOOK!"

"What do you mean?" I turned the corner, only to find Flavio and Andres in a state of undress I never thought I'd ever see either one of them in.

"AVERT YOUR EYES, CHILD!" Alfred's hand went over my face, "IT WASN'T A SQUATCH!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Alfred!" Flavio whined, "Really? You act like you've never seen us naked before."

"Not in the middle of the woods!" Alfred whined, "I thought you were Bigfoot!"

"Sorry," Andres shrugged, "I get a little loud when Flavio tops."

"What are you two doing out here?" Alfred was going to need extensive therapy. I could tell.

"Each other," Flavio grabbed Andres's shirt and threw hit on, "But then, _someone _had to come in and ruin it. Excuse us for being adventurous."

"Alfred?" Arthur came this way. And he wasn't alone, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Dio mio…" Flavio held his face in his hand.

"Can't say we did," Alfred still hand his hands over both his eyes and mine. I pushed his hand out of my face.

"I thought I raised you to not be a prude," Francis sighed out, "Hello, Flavio!"

"Hello, Francis," Flavio pulled what looked like a thong out of one of the trees.

"Could you at least put pants on before you exchange pleasantries please?" Arthur covered his eyes, too.

"Did you bring the whole damn family out today?" Flavio caught a glimpse of Mattie behind Francis.

"With the exception of Matt and Allen," Francis took over since Arthur was in enough traumatic shock.

"Good," Flavio and Andres were fully dressed, "They didn't need to see this, too."

"As you were," Francis ushered us away, pulling something out of his pocket and putting it in Flavio's hand, "Just be safe. That's all I ask of you."

"Always are," Flavio waved, "Thanks, Francis!"

"Let's go get dinner," Francis suggested, "Something to take your father's mind off what he just saw."

"Good idea," Arthur agreed, "Do you think we could stop for therapy first?"

"Really?" Francis scoffed, "That was pretty tame, Arthur."

"THAT WAS NOT TAME!" Alfred was in the same sorry state.

"All I wanted was a nice family outing," Arthur shuddered.

Francis got Arthur in the passenger seat and Alfred and Mattie in the back. I giggled and shook my head. I knew seeing Flavio and Andres wouldn't put me in nearly the position they were in. I mumbled to myself, "Prudes…"

"Oh, Amy," Francis wrapped his arms around me, "That's my girl."

It's unfortunate we didn't manage to catch a squatch. We did catch Flavio and Andres in the throes of passion, though. And soon enough, I'd be able to catch dinner with my two brothers and my two dads…My family. My home.


	39. Making Amends

**A/N: Hi, friends…Well…Here we are. The final chapter. It's been nice hanging with you this week. And it's been even nicer hanging out with you every Friday for the last few months. I'm going to miss this one. It'll be sad to see it go. But I'll still be around. If there's anything you'd care to want next, I'd be more than happy to give it a look. In other words, my suggestion box is open. I love you. x**

Mmm…I know I have to get up this morning, but for whatever reason, my body was anchored to the bed. Not that I'm complaining. It's not anchored the way it used to be. There are no bars, no zip ties, no handcuffs. And the best part? No baby monitors in sight (or hidden, for that matter). I knew that I needed to get up, but I just wanted to shut my eyes for a few minutes longer. That is, until I felt someone's kiss on my forehead.

"Amy…" a gentle voice spoke, "Wake up, mon amour. It's your first real day of work and you wouldn't want to be late."

Have I mentioned how much I love my mother lately? Because I'm sure I have the best. Slowly, but surely I opened my eyes to find him sitting at the edge of my bed, "Good morning, Mama."

"Good morning, petite," he pulled me into his arms, "Did you sleep well?"

"Pretty well," I laid my head in his shoulder.

"That's good," Francis held me a little tighter, "How are you feeling? Nervous?"

"Over the café reopening?" I shook my head, "If Friday's party was any indication of how this is going to go, I think we'll be just fine."

"In that case," he nudged me out of bed, "I'm going to let you get ready for work. Do you need anything?"

"Actually," I asked, "Do you think I could borrow your car? I need to go get Allen, too."

"That's fine," Francis allowed, "Go ahead. When do you get off?"

"Around four," I felt a sudden sinking feeling in my chest. Today was a day I couldn't wait for, but I dreaded it all the same, "I have some things to take care of after work, though. I could be gone for a while. Is that ok?"

"I'm not going to stop you," he stood in my doorway, "Whatever you need, Amy, don't ever let us stand in the way of it."

"Speaking of us," I wondered, "I'm kind of surprised Dad's not here, too."

"He's still asleep," Francis told me, "He likes to pretend he wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning because responsibility or some shit like that, but I know better. He's just as tired and slothful as the rest of us in the morning. It's adorable."

"Well," I threw on whatever I could find in my closet that happened to be clean, "Give him a kiss for me. I don't want to be late and I need to be on Francois's front door in…ten minutes."

"Ok," he stepped out of my way, "Have a good day at work, cheri. I love you."

"Love you, too, Mama," I grabbed my bag off the banister and the keys off the hook and headed for Francois's.

I thought about running through a drive-thru for caffeine, but wouldn't that be like slapping the café in the face? I can just get something there. I can make myself something there that'll be ten times better than anything I could ever get in a drive-thru. Come on, Amy. You should know better. It's still early. It's 6AM. Cut me some slack. I haven't had the jumper cables to my brain yet. I just hope that when I get there, I don't wake up Francois, but let's be honest. There's a better chance he's just going to bed.

Gently, I knocked on the door. Although, I wasn't expecting the man on the other side, "Morning, Ames."

"Morning, Matt," I threw myself into his chest, "Is Allen ready?"

"Ready?" he scoffed, "That boy's not even awake yet."

"Are you serious?" I groaned, "He took the job at the café. He should've known he'd have to be up at the ass crack of dawn."

"You're more than welcome to attempt rousing his ass out of bed," Matt let me in, "You know where his bedroom is, right?"

"Yep," I nodded, "Pray for me."

"Not much of the praying type," he shrugged, "But good luck."

"Thanks," I ran up the stairs and down the hall. I wasn't exactly sure of which one of these rooms would be Allen's, but I'm sure I'd be able to find it. Eventually. It would've been quicker to just have Matt tell me, but let no one say I ever turned down a challenge.

Fortunately, he wasn't too far down the hall. I walked into his bedroom, making sure to keep quiet. He was making some weird noises in his sleep, but I'd be surprised if he slept quietly. Carefully, I crawled into bed next to him and immediately, his arm went around me. That was kind of nice. I know he's my brother, but it was nice to have someone care.

"Mmm…" Allen groaned in my ear, "I knew you couldn't stay away, Mr. Bond…"

"Excuse me?" I shook him off. Now, I understand where the noises were coming from.

"Hold on…" That woke him up, "You're…Not…What? Amy? What the hell are you doing here?"

"We have work this morning, Allen," I leaned against the wall, "It's our first day."

"Oh, yeah," Allen rubbed his eyes, "That's right. I forgot I got a job. Can I quit yet?"

"No," I rolled my eyes, "I'm going to need the help. Hurry up. We can't be late. I'm sorry you can't go back to your dirty dream."

"Buzzkill…"

"Just out of curiosity," I wondered, "Which Bond were you having dirty dreams about?"

"One?" Allen smirked, "You really think there was only one?"

"Yes, I do," I nodded, "You don't strike me as the polyamorous type."

"Connery," he sighed out, "And what a fucking night it was."

"Between you and Jesus, Allen," I didn't need to hear the details, "Hurry up."

"Will do," Allen walked right into his bathroom and I took a walk down the hall. If one of these rooms was Allen's and one of them was probably Matt's…It wouldn't kill me to find the one that happened to be Francois's.

A few doors down from Allen, I followed the smell of thick cigarette smoke (and possibly pot. There's no possibility about it. That's pot smoke.) to Francois's bedroom. Sure enough, he was sound asleep. That's good to see. Although, the empty wine bottles on the nightstand weren't exactly the same level of comforting. A part of me wanted to clean these up, but it'd be better to leave them here. That way, Francois doesn't wake up incredibly paranoid. I counted six. Oh, Francois…Someone needs to love you. Most importantly, you need to love yourself. I covered him up a little better and kissed his cheek. If you think no one else does, at least know that I do.

"Hey, Amy?" Allen kept his voice down, knowing better than to wake the sleeping bear in here, "You ready?"

"Yeah," I swallowed the lump in my throat, "Let's go."

"Hey," Allen took my hand, "Are you ok? You seem like you're about to have a prom night level meltdown."

"No," I shook him off, "I'm good. Let's go."

Because I needed the drive to clear my head. All the windows were down and I was half tempted to turn on some sort of bright, happy showtunes. But I didn't have the heart to give them the full attention they deserved. Someone really did need to love Francois, but at the end of the day, he needed to clean himself up first. I was too late with one. I don't want to do that again. Once we pulled up to the café, all my cares melted away. Or were deeply suppressed. One of the two.

"Morning, Helen," I pushed the door open and found her flipping chairs down.

"Morning, Amy," Helen looked up, "Morning, new guy."

"Allen," he reminded her.

"I still can't believe you hired my brother," I giggled, "At least this way, you can't scam drinks off me anymore."

"Oh, those were simpler times," Allen let out a heavy, nostalgic sigh.

"HOLD ON," Helen froze, "You're _THAT _Allen?!"

"In the flesh," Allen took a little bow, "The one and only."

"I'm not the one that hired him because he's cute, Helen," I teased, "I mean, I'd hire him because he's family, but…"

"Amy…" Allen clutched his chest, "Flattered."

"Of course," I laid my head on his shoulder, "I got you."

"Even when I almost made us late this morning?"

"Yes."

"Dude!" Allen hugged me tight, "I have the best boss in the world."

"You know," Helen pointed out, "If you two weren't related, you'd make a cute couple."

"No, no, no," Allen shot that down immediately, "Even before we knew we shared blood, that wasn't an option."

"What?" Helen asked, "She's cute! What would be so terrible about that?"

"Thank you, Helen," I smiled. Fuck, it's going to be a good day.

"Not exactly straight, boss," Allen told her, "Yes, Amy's adorable. There's no denying that. But…She's also a lovely young lady. I want someone that looks like he can tear me in half like a phone book."

"So," I jabbed, "Viktor?"

"I've been trying to wear Viktor down for years!" Allen groaned, "But apparently, Xiao has something I don't. But that's his prerogative."

"I'm sorry," I sympathized, "One day, Allen. You'll find someone special. Let's just hope it's not like your parents and it's more like mine."

"Preach, sister, preach!"

"Alright then," Helen turned the last chair, "Are we ready? Should we open?"

"Hold on," I jumped behind the counter and wiped this weekend's sins off the pastry case. Then, I flipped on the machines, "There. Now, we can open."

"That's my girl!" Helen praised, "Alright then. Let's get to it!"

"Hey, Amy," Allen doubled over the counter, "Can you teach me how to do latte art?"

"Um…" I gave him a look, "Where the hell did that come from?"

"I noticed you get more tips when you do latte art," he pointed out, "And I want my fingers in that pie."

"Oh," I shrugged, "I don't see why not. If we get some downtime, I'd be happy to teach you."

"Neat!" Allen squeaked, "So, what do we need?"

"Can you get some milk in the steamer?" I asked.

"I can do that!"

And so, we got through the morning rush. It wasn't as busy as I thought it'd be, but I suppose that's more of a blessing than a curse. It's not like we're going to be hurting any time soon. Business will, no doubt, kick up around noon. Once we managed to work in a break, I got three cups of coffee from the kitchen and brought them behind the counter with me.

"Alright, Allen," I began, "I'm only going to teach you some quick basics. Once you get the hang of these, everything else is easy as shit. When we have our milk, we're going to swirl it around."

"Why?" he wondered.

"Why not?" I swirled my milk around and started getting my good pour, "But make sure your cup is tipped, too. Pour the milk. Wait for it to float to the top. And the way I do mine, I let it float on the top. Take a toothpick, drag everything into the middle, and voila! My usual flower."

"Really?" Allen stared into his cup of murky coffee, "That's it?"

"You didn't have it tipped enough," I readjusted him, "It's a pain in the ass to get the hang of, but like I said, once you do, it's the easiest thing. And it's such a nice little touch to add."

"Maybe I'm just not meant to do it," he sighed out, trying again, "Seriously, Amy. Do I just…lack the skill?"

"I did, too, at one point," I admitted, "Don't come in here with that bullshit. It's nothing a little practice can't help. Keep working at it, Allen. You'll get it soon enough."

"Thanks," Allen laid his head on my shoulder, "Maybe I'm just being a baby."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Way to kick me while I'm down."

"Allen," I held his face between my hands, "It's not the end of the world. You're being overly dramatic. Relax, you extra bitch."

"Yes, boss." I don't think Allen was expecting the tough love, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't take it.

"Hey," I had to do this some time. Now seemed like a good one, "Do you think you could find your own way home? I got somewhere I need to be after work."

"That's fine," Allen allowed, "I'll just call Alfred. I'm sure he'll come get me. Besides! I'm getting my baby out of the garage today! Finally!"

"That's good."

As our day came dwindling down and the ones scheduled to take our places came in, I had a knot in my stomach that killed me. I needed something to settle it down. I threw in a peppermint green tea and hoped for the best. It probably wouldn't hurt to bring a little something, something along with me.

"So, Amy…?" Allen slid next to me, "What do you have going on that's making me call Alfred for a ride home?"

"I'm going to pay someone a long overdue visit," I sipped on my drink, "It's nothing too elaborate."

"Shit, that's it?" he gave me a look, "I can sit through that. That's not a problem."

"No," I shot him down, "I need to do this on my own. I appreciate the solidarity, but it's important."

"Ok," Allen dropped it, kissing the top of my head, "I love you. See you later."

"Love you, too," I jumped into the driver's seat and took off. This is going to be like an enema, but after all the bullshit I've been through and what she's been through, it'll be a piece of cake. It's not like I've never seen her before. I could do this. Besides, it'll be good for both of us. When I pulled up to the house, I took one last deep breath. Now or never, right?

Knock, knock.

"Amy?" a sweet, older woman stood in the doorway. This poor creature looked like she had seen her fair share of hell lately, too. I couldn't blame her.

Without another thought, I threw my arms around her, "Hi, Maureen."

"Hi," she squeezed me tighter, her voice breaking, "Not that it's not wonderful to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"I felt bad for missing the service," I winced, "But I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, honey," Maureen assured me, "Don't beat yourself up for what happened."

"I wish there was something I could've done for him," I told her, "But…I tried…I tried so damn hard."

"I know, Amy," she wasn't letting me go, "I know. Why don't you come in and sit down?"

"Thank you," I remembered this living room like the back of my hand. Reid and I had spent many an afternoon doing some very PG-13 things on this couch. All while Maureen would be either at work or in the middle of making dinner.

"Again," Maureen went on, "Not that I'm not happy to see you, Amy, but what brings you by?"

I took in a sharp breath, feeling it in every part of my body. That was her son. She was his mother. She had every right to know, "Maureen…I need to tell you something. About the way Reid died…"


End file.
